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THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN 


rat  urniM 
of  m 


‘Entrreto  Hang  lEtuttott 


The  Heart  of  ♦ *■ 
Mid-Lothian 

#■  «?*  By  Sir  Walter  Scott,  Bart, 


With  Introductory  Essay  and  Notes 
by  Andrew  Lang  Illustrated 


Dana  Estes  & Company 
•*  & jt  j*  jt  Publishers 
Boston 


Copyright , 1893, 

By  Estes  & Lauriat 


PRINTED  BY  C.  H.  SIMONDS  COMPANY 
BOSTON,  MASS.,  U.  S.  A. 


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4 


S 3-*5 

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TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 

COLLECTED  AND  ARRANGED  BY 

JEDEDIAH  CLEISHBOTHAM, 

SCHOOLMASTER  AND  PARISH  CLERK  OF  GANDERCLEUGH 


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SECOND  SERIES. 

THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN 


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58P050 


Hear,  Land  o’  Cakes  and  brither  Scots, 

Frae  Maidenkirk  to  Jonny  Groats’, 

If  there ’s  a hole  in  a’  your  coats, 

I rede  ye  tent  it ; 

A chiel’s  amang  you  takin’  notes, 

An’  faith  he’ll  prent  it ! 

Burns. 


Ahora  bien , dixo  il  Cura,  traedme , senor  huesved,  aquesos  libros , 
que  los  quiero  ver.  Que  me  place,  respondid  el , y entrando,  en  su 
aposento , sacd  dd  una  maletilla  vieja  cerrada  con  una  cadenilla,  y 
abriendola , halld  en  ella  tres  libros  qrandes  y unos  papeles  de  muy 
buena  letra  escritos  de  mano.  — Don  Quixote,  Parte  I.  Capitulo  32. 


It  is  mighty  well,  said  the  priest ; pray,  landlord,  bring  me  those 
books,  for  I have  a mind  to  see  them.  With  all  my  heart,  answered 
the  host ; and,  going  to  his  chamber,  he  brought  out  a little  old 
cloke-bag,  with  a padlock  and  chain  to  it,  and,  opening  it,  he  took 
out  three  large  volumes,  and  some  manuscript  papers  written  in  a 
fine  character.  — Jarvis’s  Translation. 


Slntrrefo  Hang  lEiition. 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS. 

HEART  OF  MIDLOTHIAN. 

Volume  I. 

PAGE 

Effie  and  Geordie  . Frontispiece 

The  Porteous  Mob  94 

Jeanie  and  Effie  304 

Volume  IL 

Jeanie  and  the  Laird  of  Dumbiedykes  . . 27 

Jeanie  and  Queen  Caroline  „ . . . 194 


EDITORS  INTRODUCTION 

TO 

THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN. 


Scott  began  to  work  on  “The  Heart  of  Mid-Lothian” 
almost  before  he  had  completed  “Rob  Roy.”  On 
Nov.  10,  1817,  he  writes  to  Archibald  Constable  an- 
nouncing that  the  negotiations  for  the  sale  of  the  story 
to  Messrs.  Longman  have  fallen  through,  their  firm 
declining  to  relieve  the  Ballantynes  of  their  worthless 
“stock.”  “ So  you  have  the  staff  in  your  own  hands, 
and,  as  you  are  on  the  spot,  can  manage  it  your  own 
way.  Depend  on  it  that,  barring  unforeseen  illness  or 
death,  these  will  be  the  best  volumes  which  have  ap- 
peared. I pique  myself  on  the  first  tale,  which  is  called 
4 The  Heart  of  Mid-Lothian.5  ” Sir  Walter  had  thought 
of  adding  a romance,  “The  Regalia,”  on  the  Scotch 
royal  insignia,  which  had  been  rediscovered  in  the 
Castle  of  Edinburgh.  This  story  he  never  wrote.  Mr. 
Cadell  was  greatly  pleased  at  ousting  the  Longmans  — 
“they  have  themselves  to  blame  for  the  want  of  the 
Tales,  and  may  grumble  as  they  choose:  we  have 
Taggy  by  the  tail , and,  if  we  have  influence  to  keep  the 
best  author  of  the  day,  we  ought  to  do  it.”  1 

Though  contemplated  and  arranged  for,  “The  Heart 
of  Mid-Lothian  ” was  not  actually  taken  in  hand  till 
shortly  after  Jan.  15,  1818,  when  Cadell  writes  that 
1 Archibald  Constable , iii.  104. 


X 


EDITOR’S  INTRODUCTION  TO 


the  tracts  and  pamphlets  on  the  affair  of  Porteous  are  to 
be  collected  for  Scott.  “ The  author  was  in  great  glee 
. . . he  says  that  he  feels  very  strong  with  what  he 
has  now  in  hand.”  But  there  was  much  anxiety  con- 
cerning Scott’s  health.  “I  do  not  at  all  like  this  ill- 
ness of  Scott’s/’  said  James  Ballantyne  to  Hogg.  “I 
have  often  seen  him  look  jaded  of  late,  and  am  afraid 
it  is  serious.”  “ Haud  your  tongue,  or  I’ll  gar  you 
measure  your  length  on  the  pavement,”  replied  Hogg. 
“Youfause,  down-hearted  loon,  that  ye  are,  you  daur 
to  speak  as  if  Scott  were  on  his  death-bed!  It  cannot 
be,  it  must  not  be!  I will  not  suffer  you  to  speak 
that  gait.”1  Scott  himself  complains  to  Charles  Kirk- 
patrick Sharpe  of  “ these  damned  spasms.  The  mer- 
chant Abudah’s  hag  was  a henwife  to  them  when  they 
give  me  a real  night  of  it.” 

“The  Heart  of  Mid-Lothian,”  in  spite  of  the  author’s 
malady,  was  published  in  June  1818.  As  to  its  recep- 
tion, and  the  criticism ‘which  it  received,  Lockhart  has 
left  nothing  to  be  gleaned.  Contrary  to  his  custom,  he 
has  published,  but  without  the  writer’s  name,  a letter 
from  Lady  Louisa  Stuart,  which  really  exhausts  what 
criticism  can  find  to  say  about  the  new  novel.  “I 
have  not  only  read  it  myself,”  says  Lady  Louisa,  “but 
am  in  a house  where  everybody  is  tearing  it  out  of  each 
other’s  hands,  and  talking  of  nothing  else.”  She  pre- 
ferred it  to  all  but  “ Waverley,”  and  congratulates  him 
on  having  made  “the  perfectly  good  character  the  most 
interesting.  . . . Had  this  very  story  been  conducted 
by  a common  hand,  Effie  would  have  attracted  all  our 
concern  and  sympathy,  Jeanie  only  cold  approbation. 
Whereas  Jeanie,  without  youth,  beauty,  genius,  warm  \ 
passions,  or  any  other  novel-perfection,  is  here  our  ob-  \ 
ject  from  beginning  to  end.”  Lady  Louisa,  with  her / 
usual  frankness,  finds  the  Edinburgh  lawyers  tedious,; 

1 Gillies,  p.  236. 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN.  x* 

in  the  introduction,  and  thinks  that  Mr.  Saddletree 
uwill  not  entertain  English  readers. ” The  conclusion 
“ flags  ”;  “but  the  chief  fault  I have  to  find  relates  to 
the  reappearance  and  shocking  fate  of  the  boy.  I hear 
on  all  sides  ‘Oh,  I do  not  like  that!’  I cannot  say 
what  I would  have  had  instead,  but  I do  not  like  it 
either;  it  is  a lame,  huddled  conclusion.  I know  you 
so  well  in  it,  by-the-by!  You  grow  tired  yourself,  want 
to  get  rid  of  the  story,  and  hardly  care  how.”  Lady 
Lousia  adds  that  Sir  George  Staunton  would  never  have 
hazarded  himself  in  the  streets  of  Edinburgh.  “The 
end  of  poor  Madge  Wildfire  is  most  pathetic.  The 
meeting  at  Muschat’s  Cairn  tremendous.  Dumbiedikes 
and  Rory  Bean  are  delightful.  ...  I dare  swear  many 
of  your  readers  never  heard  of  the  Duke  of  Argyle  be- 
fore.” She  ends:  “If  I had  known  nothing,  and  the 
whole  world  had  told  me  the  contrary,  I should  have 
found  you  out  in  that  one  parenthesis,  ‘ for  the  man 
was  mortal,  and  had  been  a schoolmaster. 9 ” 

Lady  Louisa  omits  a character  who  was  probably  as 
essential  to  Scott’s  scheme  as  any  — Douce  Davie 
Deans,  the  old  Cameronian.  He  had  almost  been  an- 
noyed by  the  criticism  of  his  Covenanters  in  “ Old 
Mortality,”  “the  heavy  artillery  out  of  the  Christian 
Instructor  or  some  such  obscure  field  work,”  and  was 
determined  to  “tickle  off”  another.  There  are  signs 
of  a war  between  literary  Cavaliers  and  literary  Coven- 
anters at  this  time,  after  the  discharge  of  Dr.  McCrie’s 
“heavy  artillery.”  Charles  Kirkpatrick  Sharpe  was 
presented  by  Surtees  of  Mainsforth  with  a manuscript 
of  Kirkton’s  unprinted  “ History  of  the  Church  of  Scot- 
land.” This  he  set  forth  to  edite,  with  the  determina- 
tion not  to  “let  the  Whig  dogs  have  the  best  of  it.” 
Every  Covenanting  scandal  and  absurdity,  such  as  the 
old  story  of  Mess  David  Williamson  — “Dainty  Davie  ” 
— and  his  remarkable  prowess,  and  presence  of  mind 


EDITOR’S  INTRODUCTION  TO 


-xli 

at  Cherrytrees,  was  raked  up,  and  inserted  in  notes  to 
Kirkton.  Scott  was  Sharpe’s  ally  in  this  enterprise.. 
“I  had  in  the  persons  of  my  forbears  a full  share,  you 
see,  of  religious  persecution  . . . for  all  my  great- 
grandfathers were  under  the  ban,  and  I think  there 
were  hardly  two  of  them  out  of  jail  at  once.”  1 “ I think 
it  would  be  most  scandalous  to  let  the  godly  carry  it  off 
thus.”  “ It  ” seems  to  have  been  the  editing  of  Kirk- 
ton. “It  is  very  odd  the  volume  of  Wodrow,  contain- 
ing the  memoir  of  Russell  concerning  the  murder,  is 
positively  vanished  from  the  library  99  (the  Advocates’ 
Library).  ‘ ‘ Neither  book  nor  receipt  is  to  be  found: 
surely  they  have  stolen  it  in  the  fear  of  the  Lord.” 
The  truth  seems  to  have  been  that  Cavaliers  and  Cov- 
enanters were  racing  for  the  manuscripts  wherein  they 
found  smooth  stones  of  the  brook  to  pelt  their  oppo- 
nents withal.  Soon  after  Scott  writes:  “It  was  not 
without  exertion  and  trouble  that  I this  day  detected 
Russell’s  manuscript  (the  account  of  the  murder  of 
Sharpe  by  one  of  the  murderers),  also  Kirkton  and  one 
or  two  others,  which  Mr,  McCrie  had  removed  from 
their  place  in  the  library  and  deposited  in  a snug  and 
secret  corner.”  The  Covenanters  had  made  a raid  on 
the  ammunition  of  the  Cavaliers.  “I  have  given,” 
adds  Sir  Walter,  “an  infernal  row  on  the  subject  of 
hiding  books  in  this  manner.”  Sharpe  replies  that  the 
“villainous  biographer  of  John  Knox”  (Dr.  McCrie), 
“ that  canting  rogue,”  is  about  to  edite  Kirkton. 
Sharpe  therefore  advertised  his  own  edition  at  once, 
and  edited  Kirkton  by  forced  marches  as  it  were. 
Scott  reviewed  the  book  in  the  Quarterly  (Jan.  1818). 
He  remarked  that  Sharpe  4 6 had  not  escaped  the  censure 

i Mr.  Lockhart,  who  married  Sir  Walter's  daughter,  was  de- 
scended from  James  Nimmo,  who  fought  for  the  Covenant  at  Botli- 
well  Bridge.  See  Appendix  to  Nimmo’s  “ Narrative  ” (Scots 
Historical  Society). 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN. 


xiii 


of  these  industrious  literary  gentlemen  of  opposite  prin- 
ciples, who  have  suffered  a work  always  relied  upon  as 
one  of  their  chief  authorities  to  lie  dormant  for  a hun- 
dred and  forty  years.  ” Their  “ querulous  outcries  ” 
(probably  from  the  field-work  of  the  Christian  In- 
structor) he  disregards.  Among  the  passions  of  this 
literary  “ bicker,”  which  Scott  allowed  to  amuse  him, 
was  Davie  Deans  conceived.  Scott  was  not  going  to  be 
driven  by  querulous  outcries  off  the  Covenanting  field, 
where  he  erected  another  trophy.  This  time  he  was 
more  friendly  to  the  True  Blue  Presbyterians.1  His 
Scotch  patriotism  was  one  of  his  most  earnest  feelings, 
the  Covenanters,  at  worst,  were  essentially  Scotch,  and 
he  introduced  a new  Cameronian,  with  all  the  sterling 
honesty,  the  Puritanism,  the  impracticable  ideas  of  the 
Covenant,  in  contact  with  changed  times,  and  compelled 
to  compromise. 

He  possessed  a curious  pamphlet,  Haldane’s  “Active 
Testimony  of  the  true  blue  Presbyterians  ” (12mo, 
1749). 2 It  is  a most  impartial  WT>rk,  “containing  a 
declaration  and  testimony  against  the  late  unjust  in- 
vasion of  Scotland  by  Charles,  Pretended  Prince  of 
Wales,  and  William,  Pretended  Duke  of  Cumberland.” 
Everything  and  everybody  not  Covenanted,  the  House 
of  Stuart,  the  House  of  Brunswick,  the  House  of  Haps- 
burg,  Papists,  Prelatists  and  Turks,  are  cursed  up  hill 
and  down  dale,  by  these  worthy  survivors  of  the  Auld 
Leaven.  Everybody  except  the  authors,  Haldane  and 
Leslie,  “ has  broken  the  everlasting  Covenant.”  The 
very  Confession  of  Westminster  is  arraigned  for  its 

1 Charles  Kirkpatrick  Sharpe* s Correspondence , vol.  ii.  Black- 
wood, Edinburgh,  1888. 

2 The  copy  in  the  Editor’s  collection  omits  the  words  “ True 
Blue,”  and  does  not  give  Haldane’s  name,  nor  that  of  his  associate, 
Leslie,  on  the  title-page.  The  tract  has  been  regarded  as  a Tory 
squib,  but  this  view  is  improbable. 


xiv 


EDITOR’S  INTRODUCTION  TO 


laxity.  “ The  whole  Civil  and  Judicial  Law  of  God,” 
as  given  to  the  Jews  (except  the  ritual,  polygamy, 
divorce,  slavery,  and  so  forth),  is  to  be  maintained  in 
the  law  of  Scotland.  Sins  are  acknowledged,  and  since 
the  Covenant  every  political  step  — Cromwell’s  Protec- 
torate, the  Restoration,  the  Revolution,  the  accession  of 
the  “ Dukes  of  Hanover” — has  been  a sin.  A Court 
of  Elders  is  to  be  established  to  put  in  execution  the 
Law  of  Moses.  All  offenders  against  the  Kirk  are  to 
be  “ capitally  punished.”  Stage  plays  are  to  be  sup- 
pressed by  the  successors  of  the  famous  convention  at 
Lanark,  Anno  1682.  Toleration  of  all  religions  is  “sin- 
ful,” and  “contrary  to  the  word  of  God.”  Charles 
Edward  and  the  Duke  of  Cumberland  are  cursed. 
“Also  we  reckon  it  a great  vice  in  Charles,  his  foolish 
Pity  and  Lenity,  in  sparing  these  profane,  blasphemous 
Redcoats,  that  Providence  delivered  into  his  hand, 
when,  by  putting  them  to  death,  this  poor  land  might 
have  been  eased  of  the  heavy  burden  of  these  vermin  of 
Hell.”  The  Auld  Leaven  swore  terribly  in  Scotland. 
The  atrocious  cruelties  of  Cumberland  after  Culloden 
are  stated  with  much  frankness  and  power.  The  Ger- 
man soldiers  are  said  to  have  carried  off  “a  vast  deal  of 
Spoil  and  Plunder  into  Germany,”  and  the  Redcoats 
had  Plays  and  Diversions  (cricket,  probably)  on  the 
Inch  of  Perth,  on  a Sabbath.  “ The  Hellish,  Pagan, 
Juggler  plays  are  set  up  and  frequented  with  more  im- 
pudence and  audacity  than  ever.”  Only  the  Jews,  “ our 
elder  Brethren,”  are  exempted  from  the  curses  of  Hal- 
dane and  Leslie,  who  promise  to  recover  for  them  the 
Holy  Land.  “The  Massacre  in  Edinburgh”  in  1736, 
by  wicked  Porteous,  calls  for  vengeance  upon  the  au- 
thors and  abettors  thereof.  The  army  and  navy  are 
“ the  most  wicked  and  flagitious  in  the  Universe.”  In 
fact,  the  True  Blue  Testimony  is  very  active  indeed, 
and  could  be  delivered,  thanks  to  hellish  Toleration, 


THE  HEART  OE  MID-LOTHIAN. 


xv 


with  perfect  safety,  by  Leslie  and  Haldane.  The  can- 
dour of  their  eloquence  assuredly  proves  that  Davie 
Deans  is  not  overdrawn;  indeed,  he  is  much  less  trucu- 
lent than  those  who  actually  were  testifying  even  after 
his  decease. 

In  “The  Heart  of  Mid-Lothian”  Scott  set  himself  to 
draw  his  own  people  at  their  best.  He  had  a heroine 
to  his  hand  in  Helen  Walker,  “a  character  so  distin- 
guished for  her  undaunted  love  of  virtue,”  who,  unlike 
Jeanie  Deans,  7Hiv^  not  want.” 

In  1831  he  erected  a pillar  over  her  grave  in  the  old 
Covenanting  stronghold  of  Irongray.  The  inscription 
ends  — 

Respect  the  Grave  of  Poverty, 

When  combined  with  Love  of  Truth 

And  Dear  Affection. 

The  sweetness,  the  courage,  the  spirit,  the  integrity  of 
Jeanie  Deans  have  made  her,  of  all  Scott’s  characters, 
the  dearest  to  her  countrymen,  and  the  name  of  Jeanie 
was  given  to  many  children,  in  pious  memory  of  the 
blameless  heroine.  The  foil  to  her,  in  the  person  of 
Effie,  is  not  less  admirable.  Among  Scott’s  qualities 
~was  one  rare  among  modern  authors : he  had  an  affec- 
tionate  toleration  for  his  characters, If  we  compare 
Effie  with  Hetty  in  “ Adam  Bede,”  this  charming  and 
genial  quality  of  Scott’s  becomes  especially  striking. 
Hetty  and  Dinah  are  in  very  much  the  same  situation 
and  condition  as  Effie  and  Jeanie  Deans.  * But  Hetty 
is  a frivolous  little  animal,  in  whom  vanity  and  silli- 
ness do  duty  for  passion : she  has  no  heart : she  is  only 
a butterfly  broken  on  the  wheel  of  the  world?  Doubt- 
less there  are  such  women  in  plenty,  yet  we  feel  that 
her  creator  persecutes  her,  and  has  a kind  of  spite^ 
against  her.  This  was  impossible  to  Scott.  Effie  has 
heart,  sincerity,  passion,  loyalty,  despite  her  flight! 


EDITOR'S  INTRODUCTION  TO 


*vi 


ness,  and  her  readiness,  when  her  chance  comes,  to  play 
the  fine  lady.  It  was  distasteful  to  Scott  to  create  a 
character  not  human  and  sympathetic  on  one  side  or 
another.  Thus  his  robber  “ of  milder  mood,”  on 
Jeanie’s  journey  to  England,  is  comparatively  a good 
fellow,  and  the  scoundrel  Ratcliffe  is  not  a scoundrel 
utterly.  “ 6 To  make  a lang  tale  short,  I canna  under- 
take the  job.  It  gangs  against  my  conscience.’  6 Your 
conscience,  Rat?  ’ said  Sharpitlaw,  with  a sneer,  which 
the  reader  will  probably  think  very  natural  upon  the 
occasion.  ‘ Ou  ay,  sir,’  answered  Ratcliffe,  calmly,  ‘just 
my  conscience;  a’ body  has  a conscience,  though  it  may 
be  ill  wunnin  at  it.  I think  mine’s  as  weel  out  o’  the 
gate  as  maist  folk’s  are;  and  yet  it’s  just  like  the  noop 
of  my  elbow,  it  whiles  gets  a bit  dirl  on  a corner.’  ” 
Scott  insists  on  leaving  his  worst  people  in  possession 
of  something  likeable,  just  as  he  cannot  dismiss  even 
Captain  Craigengelt  without  assuring  us  that  Bucklaw 
made  a provision  for  his  necessities.  This  is  certainly 
a more  humane  way  of  writing  fiction  than  that  to 
which  we  are  accustomed  in  an  age  of  humanitarianism. 
Nor  does  Scott’s  art  suffer  from  his  kindliness,  and  Effie 
in  prison,  with  a heart  to  be  broken,  is  not  less  pathetic 
than  the  heartless  Hetty,  in  the  same  condemnation. 

As  to  her  lover,  Robertson,  or  Sir  George  Staunton, 
he  certainly  verges  on  the  melodramatic.  Perhaps  we 
know  too  much  about  the  real  George  Robertson,  who 
was  no  heir  to  a title  in  disguise,  but  merely  a “ stabler 
in  Bristo  ” accused  “ at  the  instance  of  Duncan  Forbes, 
Esq.  of  Culloden,  his  Majesty’s  advocate,  for  the 
crimes  of  Stouthrieff,  Housebreaking,  and  Robbery.” 
Robertson  “kept  an  inn  in  Bristo,  at  Edinburgh,  where 
the  Newcastle  carrier  commonly  (did  put  up,”  and  is  be- 
lieved to  have  been  a married  man.  It  is  not  very  clear 
that  the  novel  gains  much  by  the  elevation  of  the  Bristo 
innkeeper  to  a baronetcy,  except  in  so  far  as  Effie’s  ap- 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN. 


xvii 


pearance  in  the  character  of  a great  lady  is  entertaining 
and  characteristic,  an d^ Je ajH e^  of : hej^  o^n 

envy  is  exemplary.  The  change  in  social  rank  calls  for 
tfuTt M'gfc  conclusion,  about  which  almost  every  reader 
agrees  with  the  criticism  of  Lady  Louisa  Stuart  and 
her  friends.  Thus  the  novel  “ tilled  more  pages  ” than 
Mr.  Jedediali  Cleishbotham  had  “ opined, 99  and  hence 
comes  a languor  which  does  not  beset  the  story  of  “Old 
Mortality.”  Scott’s  own  love  of  adventure  and  of  stir- 
ring incidents  at  any  cost  is  an  excellent  quality  in  a 
novelist,  but  it  does,  in  this  instance,  cause  him  some- 
what to  dilute  those  immortal  studies  of  Scotch  char- 
acter which  are  the  strength  of  his  genius. 

The  reader  feels  a lack  of  reality  in  the  conclusion, 
the  fatal  encounter  of  the  father  and  the  lost  son,  an 
incident  as  old  as  the  legend  of  Odysseus.  But  this  is 
more  than  atoned  for  by  the  admirable  part  of  Madge 
Wildfire,  flitting  like  a feu  follet  up  and  down  among 
the  douce  Scotch,  and  the  dour  rioters.  Madge  Wild- 
fire is  no  repetition  of  Meg  Merrilies,  though  both  are 
unrestrained  natural  things,  rebels  against  the  settled 
life,  musical  voices  out  of  the  past,  singing  forgotten 
songs  of  nameless  minstrels.  Nowhere  but  in  Shak- 
speare  can  we  find  such  a distraught  woman  as  Madge 
Wildfire,  so  near  akin  to  nature  and  to  the  moods  of 
“ the  bonny  lady  Moon.”  Only  he  who  created  Ophelia 
could  have  conceived  or  rivalled  the  scene  where  Madge 
accompanies  the  hunters  of  Staunton  on  the  moonlit 
hill  and  sings  her  warnings  to  the  fugitive. 

When  the  glede’s  in  the  blue  cloud, 

The  lavrock  lies  still ; 

When  the  hound’s  in  the  green-wood, 

The  hind  keeps  the  hill. 

There’s  a bloodhound  ranging  Tinwald  wood. 

There’s  harness  glancing  sheen ; 


xviii  EDITOR’S  INTRODUCTION  TO 

There’s  a maiden  sits  on  Tinwald  brae, 

And  she  sings  loud  between. 

O sleep  ye  sound,  Sir  James,  she  said, 

When  ye  suld  rise  and  ride  ? 

There’s  twenty  men,  wi’  bow  and  blade, 

Are  seeking  where  ye  hide. 

The  madness  of  Madge  Wildfire  has  its  parallel  in 
the  wildness  of  Goethe’s  Marguerite,  both  of  them 
lamenting  the  lost  child,  which,  to  Madge’s  fancy,  is 
now  dead,  now  living  in  a dream.  But  the  gloom  that 
hangs  about  Muschat’s  Cairn,  the  ghastly  vision  of 
“ crying  up  Ailie  Muschat,  and  she  and  I will  hae  a 
grand  bouking- washing,  and  bleach  our  claise  in  the 
beams  of  the  bonny  Lady  Moon,”  have  a terror  beyond 
the  German,  and  are  unexcelled  by  Webster  or  by  Ford. 
“But  the  moon,  and  the  dew,  and  the  night-wind, 
they  are  just  like  a caller  kail-blade  laid  on  my  brow; 
and  whiles  I think  the  moon  just  shines  on  purpose  to 
pleasure  me,  when  naebody  sees  her  but  mysell.”  Scott 
did  not  deal  much  in  the  facile  pathos  of  the  deajbh-bed, 
but  that  of  Madge  Wildfire  has  a grace  of  poetry,  and 
her  latest  song  is  the  sweetest  and  wildest  of  his  lyrics, 
the  most  appropriate  in  its  setting.  When  we  think  of 
the  contrasts  to  her — the  honest,  dull  good-nature  of 
Dumbiedikes;  the  common-sense  and  humour  of  Mrs. 
Saddletree;  the  pragmatic  pedantry  of  her  husband; 
the  Highland  pride,  courage,  and  absurdity  of  the  Cap- 
tain of  Knockdander  — when  we  consider  all  these  so 
various  and  perfect  creations,  we  need  not  wonder  that 
Scott  was  “in  high  glee  99  over  “The  Heart  of  Mid- 
Lothian,”  “felt  himself  very  strong,”  and  thought 
that  these  would  be  “the  best  volumes  that  have  ap- 
peared.” The  difficulty,  as  usual,  is  to  understand 
how,  in  all  this  strength,  he  permitted  himself  to  be  so 
careless  over  what  is  really  by  far  the  easiest  part  of 
the  novelist’s  task  — the  construction.  But  so  it  was; 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN. 


xix 


about  “The  Monastery  ” he  said,  “ it  was  written  with 
as  much  care  as  the  rest,  that  is,  with  no  care  at  all.” 
His  genius  flowed  free  in  its  own  unconscious  abun- 
dance: where  conscious  deliberate  workmanship  was 
needed,  “the  forthright  craftsman’s  hand,”  there  alone 
he  was  lax  and  irresponsible.  In  Shakspeare’s  case 
we  can  often  account  for  similar  incongruities  by  the 
constraint  of  the  old  plot  which  he  was  using  ; but 
Scott  was  making  his  own  plots,  or  letting  them  make 
themselves.  “I  never  could  lay  down  a plan,  or,  hav- 
ing laid  it  down,  I never  could  adhere  to  it;  the  action 
of  composition  always  diluted  some  passages  and 
abridged  or  omitted  others;  and  personages  were  ren- 
dered important  or  insignificant,  not  according  to  their 
agency  in  the  original  conception  of  the  plan,  but  ac- 
cording to  the  success  or  otherwise  with  which  I was 
able  to  bring  them  out.  I only  tried  to  make  that 
which  I was  actually  writing  diverting  and  interesting, 
leaving  the  rest  to  fate.  . . . When  I chain  my  mind 
to  ideas  which  are  purely  imaginative  — for  argument 
is  a different  thing  — it  seems  to  me  that  the  sun 
leaves  the  landscape,  that  I think  away  the  whole  viva- 
city and  spirit  of  my  original  conception,  and  that  the 
results  are  cold,  tame,  and  spiritless.”1 

In  fact,  Sir  Walter  was  like  the  Magician  who  can 
raise  spirits  that,  once  raised,  dominate  him.  Probably 
this  must  ever  be  the  case,  when  an  author’s  characters 
are  not  puppets  but  real  creations.  They  then  have  a will 
and  a way  of  their  own;  a free-will  which  their  creator 
cannot  predetermine  and  correct.  Something  like  this 
appears  to  have  been  Scott’s  own  theory  of  his  lack  of 
constructive  power.  No  one  was  so  assured  of  its  ab- 
sence, no  one  criticised  it  more  severely  than  he  did 
himself.  The  Edinburgh  Review  about  this  time 
counselled  the  “Author  of  Waverley  ” to  attempt  a 
1 Journal , i.  117^ 


XX 


EDITOR’S  INTRODUCTION  TO 


drama,  doubting  only  bis  powers  of  compression.  Pos- 
sibly work  at  a drama  might  have  been  of  advantage  to 
the  genius  of  Scott.  He  was  unskilled  in  selection 
and  rejection,  which  the  drama  especially  demands. 
But  he  detested  the  idea  of  writing  for  actors,  whom  he 
regarded  as  ignorant,  dull,  and  conceited.  66 1 shall 
not  fine  and  renew  a lease  of  popularity  upon  the  thea- 
tre. To  write  for  low,  ill-informed,  and  conceited 
actors,  whom  you  must  please,  for  your  success  is  neces- 
sarily at  their  mercy,  I cannot  away  with,”  he  wrote  to 
Southey.  “ Avoioedly,  I wdll  never  write  for  the  stage; 
if  I do,  6 call  me  horse, ’ ” he  remarks  to  Terry.  He 
wanted  “ neither  the  profit  nor  the  shame  of  it.”  “I 
do  not  think  that  the  character  of  the  audience  in  Lon- 
don is  such  that  one  could  have  the  least  pleasure  in 
pleasing  them.”  He  liked  helping  Terry  to  “ Ter- 
ryfy”  “ The  Heart  of  Mid-Lothian,”  and  his  other 
novels,  but  he  had  no  more  desire  than  a senator  of  Rome 
would  have  had  to  see  his  name  become  famous  by  the 
Theatre.  This  confirmed  repulsion  in  one  so  learned  in 
the  dramatic  poets  is  a curious  trait  in  Scott’s  character. 
He  could  not  accommodate  his  genius  to  the  needs  of 
the  stage,  and  that  crown  which  has  most  potently 
allured  most  men  of  genius  he  would  have  thrust  away, 
had  it  been  offered  to  him,  with  none  of  Caesar’s  reluc- 
tance. At  the  bottom  of  all  this  lay  probably  the  secret 
conviction  that  his  genius  was  his  master,  that  it  must 
take  him  where  it  would,  on  paths  where  he  was  com- 
pelled to  follow.  Terse  and  concentrated,  of  set  pur- 
pose, he  could  not  be.  A notable  instance  of  this 
inability  occurs  in  the  Introductory  Chapter  to  “The 
Heart  of  Mid-Lothian,”  which  has  probably  frightened 
away  many  modern  readers.  The  Advocate  and  the 
Writer  to  the  Signet  and  the  poor  Client  are  persons 
quite  uncalled  for,  and  their  little  adventure  at  Gan- 
dercleugh  is  unreal.  Oddly  enough,  part  of  their  con- 
versation is  absolutely  in  the  mariner  of  Dickens. 


THE  HEART  OE  MID-LOTHIAN. 


xxi 


u ‘ 1 think/  said  I,  . . . ‘the  metropolitan  county 
may,  in  that  case,  be  said  to  have  a sad  heart/ 

“‘Right  as  my  glove,  Mr.  Pattieson,’ added  Mr. 
Hardie ; ‘ and  a close  heart,  and  a hard  heart  — Keep 
it  up,  Jack/ 

“ ‘And  a wicked  heart,  and  a poor  heart/  answered 
Halkit,  doing  his  best. 

“ ‘And  yet  it  may  be  called  in  some  sort  a strong 
heart,  and  a high  heart/  rejoined  the  advocate.  ‘You 
see  I can  put  you  both  out  of  heart/  99 

Fortunately  we  have  no  more  of  this  easy  writing, 
which  makes  such  very  melancholy  reading.  v 

The  narrative  of  the  Porteous  mob,  as  given  by  the 
novelist,  is  not,  it  seems,  entirely  accurate.  Like  most 
artists,  Sir  Walter  took  the  liberty  of  “composing  ” his 
picture.  In  his  “Illustrations  of  the  Author  of  Waver- 
ley”  (1825)  Mr.  Robert  Chambers  records  the  changes 
in  facts  made  by  Scott.  In  the  first  place,  Wilson 
did  not  attack  his  guard,  and  enable  Robertson  to  es- 
cape, after  the  sermon,  but  as  soon  as  the  criminals 
took  their  seats  in  the  pew.  When  fleeing  out,  Rob- 
ertson tripped  over  “the  plate,”  set  on  a stand  to  re- 
ceive alms  and  oblations,  whereby  he  hurt  himself,  and 
was  seen  to  stagger  and  fall  in  running  down  the  stairs 
leading  to  the  Cowgate.  Mr.  McQueen,  Minister  of  the 
New  Kirk,  was  coming  up  the  stairs.  He  conceived  it 
to  be  his  duty  to  set  Robertson  on  his  feet  again,  “and 
covered  his  retreat  as  much  as  possible  from  the  pursuit 
of  the  guard.”  Robertson  ran  up  the  Horse  Wynd, 
out  at  Potter  Row  Port,  got  into  the  King’s  Park,  and 
headed  for  the  village  of  Duddingston,  beside  the  loch 
on  the  south-east  of  Arthur’s  Seat.  He  fainted  after 
jumping  a dyke,  but  was  picked  up  and  given  some 
refreshment.  He  lay  in  hiding  till  he  could  escape  to 
Holland. 

The  conspiracy  to  hang  Porteous  did  not,  in  fact, 


I 


xxii 


EDITOR’S  INTRODUCTION  TO 


develop  in  a few  hours,  after  his  failure  to  appear  on 
the  scaffold.  The  Queen’s  pardon  (or  a reprieve)  reached 
Edinburgh  on  Thursday,  Sept.  3 ; the  Riot  occurred  on 
the  night  of  Sept.  7.  The  council  had  been  informed 
that  lynching  was  intended,  thirty-six  hours  before  the 
fatal  evening,  but  pronounced  the  reports  to  be  “ cad- 
dies’ clatters.”  Their  negligence,  of  course,  must  have 
increased  the  indignation  of  the  Queen.1  The  riot,  ac- 
cording to  a very  old  man,  consulted  by  Mr.  Chambers, 
was  headed  by  two  butchers,  named  Cumming,  “tall, 
strong,  and  exceedingly  handsome  men,  who  dressed  in 
women’s  clothes  as  a disguise.”  The  rope  was  tossed 
out  of  a window  in  a “ small  wares  shop  ” by  a woman, 
who  received  a piece  of  gold  in  exchange.  This  ex- 
travagance is  one  of  the  very  few  points  which  suggest 
that  people  of  some  wealth  may  have  been  concerned  in 
the  affair.  Tradition,  according  to  Charles  Kirkpatrick 
Sharpe,  believed  in  noble  leaders  of  the  riot.  It  is 
certain  that  several  witnesses  of  good  birth  and  position 
testified  very  strongly  against  Porteous,  at  his  trial. 

According  to  Hogg,  Scott’s  “fame  was  now  so  firmly 
established  that  he  cared  not  a fig  for  the  opinion  of 
his  literary  friends  beforehand.”  He  was  pleased,  how- 
ever, by  the  notice  of  “Ivanhoe,”  “The  Heart  of  Mid- 
Lothian,”  and  “The  Bride  of  Lammermoor ” in  the 
Edinburgh  Review  of  1820,  as  he  showed  by  quoting 
part  of  its  remarks.  The  Reviewer  frankly  observed 
“that,  when  we  began  with  one  of  these  works,  we 
were  conscious  that  we  never  knew  how  to  leave  off. 
The  Porteous  mob  is  rather  heavily  described,  and 
the  whole  part  of  George  Robertson,  or  Staunton,  is 
extravagant  and  displeasing.  The  final  catastrophe  is 
needlessly  improbable  and  startling.”  The  critic  felt 
that  he  must  be  critical,  but  his  praise  of  Effie  and 
Jeanie  Deans  obviously  comes  from  his  heart.  Jeanie’s 
1 See  Additional  Notes  on  the  affair  of  Porteous. 


THE  HEART  OE  MID-LOTHIAN. 


xxiii 


character  “is  superior  to  anything  we  can  recollect  in 
the  history  of  invention  ...  a remarkable  triumph 
over  the  greatest  of  all  difficulties  in  the  conduct  of  a 
fictitious  narrative.”  The  critique  ends  with  “an 
earnest  wish  that  the  Author  would  try  his  hand  in 
the  bow  of  Shakspeare  ” ; but,  wiser  than  the  woers 
of  Penelope,  Scott  refused  to  make  that  perilous 
adventure.1 

Andrew  Lang. 

1 An  essay  by  Mr.  George  Omond,  based  on  manuscripts  in 
the  Edinburgh  Record  office  ( Scottish  Review , July,  1892),  adds 
little  to  what  is  known  about  the  Porteous  Riot.  It  is  said  that 
Porteous  was  let  down  alive,  and  hanged  again,  more  than  once, 
that  his  arm  was  broken  by  a Lochaber  axe,  and  that  a torch 
was  applied  to  the  foot  from  which  the  shoe  had  fallen.  A pam- 
phlet of  1787  says  that  Robertson  became  a spy  on  smugglers  in 
Holland,  returned  to  London,  procured  a pardon  through  the 
Butcher  Cumberland,  and  “ at  last  died  in  misery  in  London.”  It 
is  plain  that  Colonel  Moyle  might  have  rescued  Porteous,  but  he 
was  naturally  cautious  about  entering  the  city  gates  without  a 
written  warrant  from  the  civil  authorities. 


TO  THE  BEST  OF  PATRONS, 


A PLEASED  AND  INDULGENT  DEADER, 
JEDEDIAH  CLEISHBOTHAM 

WISHES  HEALTH,  AND  INCREASE,  AND  CONTENTMENT. 


Courteous  Reader, 

If  ingratitude  comprehendeth  every  vice,  surely  so  foul 
a stain  worst  of  all  beseemeth  him  whose  life  has  been 
devoted  to  instructing  youth  in  virtue  and  in  humane 
letters.  Therefore  have  I chosen,  in  this  prolegomenon, 
to  unload  my  burden  of  thanks  at  thy  feet,  for  the 
favour  with  which  thou  hast  kindly  entertained  the 
Tales  of  my  Landlord.  Certes,  if  thou  hast  chuckled 
over  their  facetious  and  festivous  descriptions,  or  hast 
thy  mind  filled  with  pleasure  at  the  strange  and  plea- 
sant turns  of  fortune  which  they  record,  verily,  I have 
also  simpered  when  I beheld  a second  story  with  attics, 
that  has  arisen  on  the  basis  of  my  small  domicile  at 
Gandercleugh,  the  walls  having  been  aforehand  pro- 
nounced by  Deacon  Barrow  to  be  capable  of  enduring 
such  an  elevation.  Nor  has  it  been  without  delectation, 
that  I have  endued  a new  coat,  (snuff-brown,  and  with 
metal  buttons,)  having  all  nether  garments  correspond- 
ing thereto.  We  do  therefore  lie,  in  respect  of  each 
other,  under  a reciprocation  of  benefits,  whereof  those 
received  by  me  being  the  most  solid,  (in  respect  that  a 


XXVI 


PROLEGOMENON  TO 


new  house  and  a new  coat  are  better  than  a new  tale 
and  an  old  song,)  it  is  meet  that  my  gratitude  should 
be  expressed  with  the  louder  voice  and  more  pre- 
ponderating vehemence.  And  how  should  it  he  so  ex- 
pressed? — Certainly  not  in  words  only,  but  in  act  and 
deed.  It  is  with  this  sole  purpose,  and  disclaiming 
all  intention  of  purchasing  that  pendicle  or  poffle  of 
land  called  thh  Carlinescroft,  lying  adjacent  to  my  gar- 
den, and  measuring  seven  acres,  three  roods,  and  four 
perches,  that  I have  committed  to  the  eyes  of  those  who 
thought  well  of  the  former  tomes,  these  four  additional 
volumes  of  the  Tales  of  my  Landlord.  Hot  the  less,  if 
Peter  Prayfort  be  minded  to  sell  the  said  poffle,  it  is  at  his 
own  choice  to  say  so;  and,  peradventure,  he  may  meet 
with  a purchaser:  unless  (gentle  reader)  the  pleasing 
pourtraictures  of  Peter  Pattieson,  now  given  unto  thee 
in  particular,  and  unto  the  public  in  general,  shall  have 
lost  their  favour  in  thine  eyes,  whereof  I am  no  way 
distrustful.  And  so  much  confidence  do  I repose  in  thy 
continued  favour,  that,  should  thy  lawful  occasions  call 
thee  to  the  town  of  Gandercleugh,  a place  frequented 
by  most  at  one  time  or  other  in  their  lives,  I will  en- 
rich thine  eyes  with  a sight  of  those  precious  manu- 
scripts whence  thou  hast  derived  so  much  delectation, 
thy  nose  with  a snuff  from  my  mull,  and  thy  palate 
with  a dram  from  my  bottle  of  strong  waters,  called, 
by  the  learned  of  Gandercleugh,  the  Dominie’s  Dribble 
o’  Drink. 

It  is  there,  0 highly  esteemed  and  beloved  reader, 
thou  wilt  be  able  to  bear  testimony,  through  the 
medium  of  thine  own  senses,  against  the  children  of 
vanity,  who  have  sought  to  identify  thy  friend  and  ser- 
vant with  I know  not  what  inditer  of  vain  fables;  who 
hath  cumbered  the  world  with  his  devices,  but  shrunken 
from  the  responsibility  thereof.  Truly,  this  hath  been 
well  termed  a generation  hard  of  faith ; since  what  can 


THE  HEART  OE  MID-LOTHIAN. 


xxvii 


a man  do  to  assert  liis  property  in  a printed  tome, 
saving  to  put  his  name  in  the  title-page  thereof,  with 
his  description,  or  designation,  as  the  lawyers  term  it, 
and  place  of  abode?  Of  a surety  I would  have  such 
sceptics  consider  how  they  themselves  would  brook  to 
have  their  works  ascribed  to  others,  their  names  and 
professions  imputed  as  forgeries,  and  their  very  exist- 
ence brought  into  question;  even  although,  perad- 
venture,  it  may  be  it  is  of  little  consequence  to  any  but 
themselves,  not  only  whether  they  are  living  or  dead, 
but  even  whether  they  ever  lived  or  no.  Yet  have 
my  maligners  carried  their  uncharitable  censures  still 
farther. 

These  cavillers  have  not  only  doubted  mine  identity, 
although  thus  plainly* proved,  but  they  have  impeached 
my  veracity  and  the  authenticity  of  my  historical  nar- 
ratives! Verily,  I can  only  say  in  answer,  that  I have 
been  cautelous  in  quoting  mine  authorities.  It  is  true, 
indeed,  that  if  I had  hearkened  with  only  one  ear,  I 
might  have  rehearsed  my  tale  with  more  acceptation 
from  those  who  love  to  hear  but  half  the  truth.  It  is, 
it  may  hap,  not  altogether  to  the  discredit  of  our 
kindly  nation  of  Scotland,  that  we  are  apt  to  take  an 
interest,  warm,  yea  partial,  in  the  deeds  and  sentiments 
of  our  forefathers.  He  whom  his  adversaries  describe 
as  a perjured  prelatist,  is  desirous  that  his  predecessors 
should  be  held  moderate  in  their  power,  and  just  in 
their  execution  of  its  privileges,  when,  truly,  the  un- 
impassioned peruser  of  the  Annals  of  those  times  shall 
deem  them  sanguinary,  violent,  and  tyrannical.  Again, 
the  representatives  of  the  suffering  nonconformists  de- 
sire that  their  ancestors,  the  Cameronians,  shall  be 
represented  not  simply  as  honest  enthusiasts,  oppressed 
for  conscience-sake,  but  persons  of  fine  breeding,  and 
valiant  heroes.  Truly,  the  historian  cannot  gratify 
these  predilections.  He  must  needs  describe  the  cava- 


xxviii 


PROLEGOMENON  TO 


Hers  as  proud  and  high-spirited,  cruel,  remorseless,  and 
vindictive;  the  suffering  party  as  honourably  tenacious 
of  their  opinions  under  persecution;  their  own  tempers 
being,  however,  sullen,  fierce,  and  rude;  their  opinions 
absurd  and  extravagant,  and  their  whole  course  of  con- 
duct that  of  persons  whom  hellebore  would  better  have 
suited  than  prosecutions  unto  death  for  high-treason. 
Natheless,  while  such  and  so  preposterous  were  the 
opinions  on  either  side,  there  were,  it  cannot  be 
doubted,  men  of  virtue  and  worth  on.  both,  to  entitle 
either  party  to  claim  merit  from  its  martyrs.  It  has 
been  demanded  of  me,  Jedediah  Cleishbotham,  by  what 
right  I am  entitled  to  constitute  myself  an  impartial 
judge  of  their  discrepancies  of  opinions,  seeing  (as  it  is 
stated)  that  I must  necessarily  have  descended  from  one 
or  other  of  the  contending  parties,  and  be,  of  course, 
wedded  for  better  or  for  worse,  according  to  the  reason- 
able practice  of  Scotland,  to  its  dogmata,  or  opinions, 
and  bound,  as  it  were,  by  the  tie  matrimonial,  or,  to 
speak  without  metaphor,  ex  jure  sanguinis , to  maintain 
them  in  preference  to  all  others. 

But,  nothing  denying  the  rationality  of  the  rule, 
which  calls  on  all  now  living  to  rule  their  political  and 
religious  opinions  by  those  of  their  great-grandfathers, 
and  inevitable  as  seems  the  one  or  the  other  horn  of 
the  dilemma  betwixt  which  my  adversaries  conceive  they 
have  pinned  me  to  the  wall,  I yet  spy  some  means  of 
refuge,  and  claim  a privilege  to  write  and  speak  of  both 
parties  with  impartiality.  For,  0 ye  powers  of  logic! 
when  the  Prelatists  and  Presbyterians  of  old  times 
went  together  by  the  ears  in  this  unlucky  country,  my 
ancestor  (venerated  be  his  memory!)  was  one  of  the 
people  called  Quakers,  (a) 1 and  suffered  severe  handling 

1 See  Editor's  Notes  at  the  end  of  the  Volume.  Wherever  a 
similar  reference  occurs,  the  reader  will  understand  that  the  same 
direction  applies. 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN. 


XXIX 


from  either  side,  even  to  the  extenuation  of  his  purse 
and  the  incarceration  of  his  person. 

Craving  thy  pardon,  gentle  Reader,  for  these  few 
words  concerning  me  and  mine,  I rest,  as  above  ex- 
pressed, thy  sure  and  obligated  friend,1 


Gandercleugh,  ) 
this  1st  of  April,  1818.  ) 


J.  c. 


Note  I.  — Author's  connection  with  Quakerism. 


INTRODUCTION 


TO 

THE  HEART  OF  MID-LQTHlAN. 


The  author  has  stated  in  the  preface  to  the  Chronicles 
of  the  Canongate,  1827,  that  he  received  from  an 
anonymous  correspondent  an  account  of  the  incident 
upon  which  the  following  story  is  founded.  He  is  now 
at  liberty  to  say,  that  the  information  was  conveyed  to 
him  by  a late  amiable  and  ingenious  lady,  whose  wit 
and  power  of  remarking  and  judging  of  character  still 
survive  in.  the  memory  of  her  friends.  Her  maiden 
name  was  Miss  Helen  Lawson,  of  Girthhead,  and  she 
was  wife  of  Thomas  Goldie,  Esq.,  of  Craigmuie,  Com- 
mksary  of  Dumfries^ 

Her  communication  was  in  these  words : 

“ I had  taken  for  summer  lodgings  a cottage  near  the  old 
Abbey  of  Lincluden.  It  had  formerly  been  inhabited  by  a 
lady  who  had  pleasure  in  embellishing  cottages,  which , she 
found  perhaps  homely  and  even  poor  enough  ; mine  therefore 
possessed  many  marks  of  taste  and  elegance  unusual  in  this 
species  of  habitation  in  Scotland,  where  a cottage  is  literally 
what  its  name  declares. 

“ From  my  cottage  door  I had  a partial  view  of  the  old 
Abbey  before  mentioned;  some  of  the  highest  arches  were 
seen  over,  and  some  through,  the  trees  scattered  along  a lane 
which  led  down  to  the  ruin,  and  the  strange  fantastic  shapes  of 


xxxii 


INTRODUCTION  TO 


almost  all  those  old  ashes  accorded  wonderfully  well  with  the 
building  they  at  once  shaded  and  ornamented. 

“ The  Abbey  itself  from  my  door  was  almost  on  a level  with 
the  cottage  ; but  on  coming  to  the  end  of  the  lane,  it  was  dis- 
covered to  be  situated  on  a high  perpendicular  bank,  at  the 
foot  of  which  run  the  clear  waters  of  the  Cluden,  where  they 
hasten  to  join  the  sweeping  Nith, 

‘ Whose  distant  roaring  swells  and  fa's/ 

As  my  kitchen  and  parlour  were  not  very  far  distant,  I one 
day  went  in  to  purchase  some  chickens  from  a person  I heard  » 
offering  them  for  sale.  It  was  a little,  rather  stout-looking 
woman,  who  seemed  to  be  between  seventy  and  eighty  years  of 
age  ; she  was  almost  covered  witl£a  tartan  plaid,  and  her  cap 
had  over  it  a black  silk  hood,  tied  under  the  chin,  a piece  of 
dress  still  much  in  use  among  elderly  women  of  that  rank  of 
life  in  ScotlantH  her  eyes  were  dark,  and  remarkably  lively 
and  intelligent;  I entered  into  conversation  with  her,  and  be- 
gan by  asking  how  she  maintained  herself,  &c. 

“ She  said  that  in  winter  she  footed  stockings,  that  is,  knit 
feet  to  countrypeople’s  stockings,  which  bears  about  the  same 
relation  to  stocking-knitting  that  cobbling  does  to  shoemaking, 
and  is  of  course  both  less  profitable  and  less  dignified ; she 
likewise  taught  a few  children  to  read,  and  in  summer  she 
whiles  reared  a few  chickens. 

“ I said  I could  venture  to  guess  from  her  face  she  had  never 
been  married.  She  laughed  heartily  at  this,  and  said,  ‘ I maun 
hae  the  queerest  face  that  ever  was  seen,  that  ye  could  guess 
that.  Now,  do  tell  me,  madam,  how  ye  cam  to  think  sae  ? * I 
told  her  it  was  from  her  cheerful  disengaged  countenance. 
She  said,  ‘ Mem,  have  ye  na  far  mair  reason  to  be  happy  than 
me,'wi’  a gude  husband  and  a fine  family  o’  bairns,  and  plenty 
o’  every  thing  ? for  me,  I'm  the  puirest  o’  a’  puir  bodies,  and 
can  hardly  contrive  to  keep  mysell  alive  in  a’  the  wee  bits  o’ 
ways  I hae  telPt  ye.'  After  some  more  conversation,  during 
which  I was  more  and  more  pleased  with  the  old  woman’s  sen- 
sible conversation,  and  the=«^w^£of  her  remarks,  she  rose  to 
go  away,  when  I asked  her  name.  Her  countenance  suddenly 
clouded,  and  she  said  gravely,  rather  colouring,  ‘ My  name  is 
Helen  Walker  ; but  your  husband  kens  weel  about  me.' 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN. 


xxxiii 


“ In  the  evening  I related  how  much  I had  been  pleased, 
and  enquired  what  was  extraordinary  in  the  history  of  the  poor 
woman.  Mr. said,  there  were  perhaps  few  more  remark- 

able people  than  Helen  Walker.  She  had  been  left  an  orphan, 
with  the  charge  of  a sister  considerably  younger  than  herself, 
and  who  was  educated  and  maintained  by  her  exertions.  At- 
tached to  her  by  so  many  ties,  therefore,  it  will  not  be  easy  to 
conceive  her  feelings,  when  she  found  that  this  only  sister 
must  be  tried  by  the  laws  of  her  country  for  child-murder,  and 
upon  being  called  as  principal  witness  against  her.  The 
counsel  for  the  prisoner  told  Helen  that  if  she  could  declare 
that  her  sister  had  made  any  preparations,  however  slight, 
or  had  given  her  any  intimation  on  the  subject,  that  such 
a statement  would  save  her  sister’s  life,  as  she  was  the  prin- 
cipal witness  against  her.  Helen  said,  ‘ It  is  impossible  for 
me_lQ  .swear--to  a falsehood ; and,  whatever  may  Re^the-eonse- 
quence,  I will  give  my  oath  according  to  my  conscience.’ 

“ The  trial  came  on,  and  the  sister  was  found  guilty  and 
condemned ; but,  in  Scotland,  six  weeks  must  elapse  between 
the  sentence  and  the  execution,  and  Helen  Walker  availed 
herself  of  it.  The  very  day  of  her  sister’s  condemnation, 
she  got  a petition  drawn  up,  stating  the  peculiar  circum- 
stances of  the  case,  and  that  very  night  set  out  on  foot  to 
London. 

“ Without  introduction  or  recommendation,  with  her  simple 
(perhaps  ill-expressed)  petition,  drawn  up  by  some  inferior 
clerk  of  the  court,  she  presented  herself,  in  her  tartan  plaid 
and  country  attire,  to  the  late  Duke  of  Argyle,  who  imme- 
diately procured  the  pardon  she  petitioned  for,  and  Helen  re- 
turned with  it,  on  foot,  just  in  time  to  save  her  sister. 

“ I was  so  strongly  interested  by  this  narrative,  that  I de- 
termined immediately  to  prosecute  my  acquaintance  with  Helen 
Walker ; but  as  I was  to  leave  the  country  next  day,  I was 
obliged  to  defer  it  till  my  return  in  spring,  when  the  first  walk 
I took  was  to  Helen  Walker’s  cottage. 

“ She  had  died  a short  time  before.  My  regret  was  extreme, 
and  I endeavoured  to  obtain  some  account  of  Helen  from  an 
old  woman  who  inhabited  the  other  end  of  her  cottage.  I en- 
quired if  Helen  ever  spoke  of  her  past  history,  her  journey  to 
London,  &c,  ‘ Na,’  the  old  woman  said,  ‘ Helen  was  a wily 


xxxiv 


INTRODUCTION  TO 


body,  and  whene’er  ony  o’  the  neebors  asked  any  thing  about 
it,  she  aye  turned  the  conversation.’ 

“ In  short,  every  answer  I received  only  tended  to  increase 
my  regret,  and  raise  my  opinion  of  Helen  Walker,  who  could 
unite  so  much  prudence  with  so  much  heroic  virtue.” 

This  narrative  was  enclosed  in  the  following  letter  to 
the  author,  without  date  or  signature : — 

“ Sir,  — The  occurrence  just  related  happened  to  me  twenty- 
six  years  ago.  Helen  Walker  lies  buried  in  the  churchyard 
of  Irongray,  about  six  miles  from  Dumfries.  I once  proposed 
that  a small  monument  should  have  been  erected  to  commemo- 
rate so  remarkable  a character,  but  I now  prefer  leaving  it  to 
you  to  perpetuate  her  memory  in  a more  durable  manner.” 

The  reader  is  now  able  to  judge  how  far  the  author 
has  improved  upon,  or  fallen  short  of,  the  pleasing  and 
interesting  sketch  of  high  principle  and  steady  affection 
displayed  by  Helen  Walker,  the  prototype  of  the  ficti- 
tious Jeanie  Deans.  Mrs.  Goldie  was  unfortunately 
dead  before  the  author  had  given  his  name  to  these 
volumes,  so  he  lost  all  opportunity  of  thanking  that 
lady  for  her  highly  valuable  communication.  But  her 
daughter,  Miss  Goldie,  obliged  him  with  the  following 
additional  information. 

“ Mrs.  Goldie  endeavoured  to  collect  further  particulars  of 
Helen  Walker,  particularly  concerning  her  journey  to  London 
but  found  this  nearly  impossible  ; as  the  natural  dignity  of  her 
character,  and  a high  sense  of  family  respectability,  made  her 
so  indissolubly  connect  her  sister’s  disgrace  with  her  own 
exertions,  that  none  of  her  neighbours  durst  ever  question  her 
upon  the  subject.  One  old  woman,  a distant  relation  of 
Helen’s,  and  who  is  still  living,  says  she  worked  an  harvest 
with  her,  but  that  she  never  ventured  to  ask  her  about  her 
sister’s  trial,  or  her  journey  to  London  ; ‘Helen,’  she  added, 
‘ was  a lofty  body,  and  used  a high  style  o?  language.’  The 
same  old  woman  says,  that  every  year  Helen  received  a cheese 
from  her  sister,  who  lived  at  Whitehaven,  and  that  she  always 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN. 


XXXV 


sent  a liberal  portion  of  it  to  herself  or  to  her  father’s  family. 
This  fact,  though  trivial  in  itself,  strongly  marks  the  affection 
subsisting  between  the  two  sisters,  and  the  complete  conviction 
on  the  mind  of  the  criminal,  that  her  sister  had  acted  solely 
from  high  principle,  not  from  any  want  of  feeling,  which  an 
other  small  but  characteristic  trait  will  further  illustrate.  A 
gentleman,  a relation  of  Mrs.  Goldie’s,  who  happened  to  be 
travelling  in  the  North  of  England,  on  coming  to  a small  inn, 
was  shown  into  the  parlour  by  a female  servant,  who,  after 
cautiously  shutting  the  door,  said,  ‘ Sir,  I’m  Nelly  Walker’s 
sister.*  Thus  practically  showing  that  she  considered  her 
sister  as  better  known  by  her  high  conduct,  than  even  herself 
by  a different  kind  of  celebrity. 

“ Mrs.  Goldie  was  extremely  anxious  to  have  a tombstone 
and  an  inscription  upon  it,  erected  in  Irongray  churchyard  ; 
and  if  Sir  Walter  Scott  will  condescend  to  write  the  last,  a lit- 
tle subscription  could  be  easily  raised  in  the  immediate  neigh- 
bourhood, and  Mrs.  Goldie’s  wish  be  thus  fulfilled.” 

It  is  scarcely  necessary  to  add,  that  the  request  of 
Miss  G-oldie  will  be  most  willingly  complied  with,  and 
without  the  necessity  of  any  tax  on  the  public.  Nor  is 
there  much  occasion  to  repeat  how  much  the  author 
conceives  himself  obliged  to  his  unknown  correspon- 
dent, who  thus  supplied  him  with  a theme  affording 
such  a pleasing  view  of  the  moral  dignity  of  virtue, 
though  unaided  by  birth,  beauty,  or  talent.  If  the  pic- 
ture has  suffered  in  the  execution",  it  is  from  the  failure 
of  the  author’s  powers  to  present  in  detail  the  same 
simple  and  striking  portrait,  exhibited  in  Mrs.  Goldie’s 
letter. 


Abbotsford,  1 
April  1,  1830.  \ 


POSTSCRIPT. 


Although  it  would  be  impossible  to  add  much  to 
Mrs.  Goldie’s  picturesque  and  most  interesting  account 
of  Helen  Walker,  the  prototype  of  the  imaginary  Jeanie 
Deans,  the  Editor  may  be  pardoned  for  introducing 
two  or  three  anecdotes  respecting  that  excellent  per- 
son, which  he  has  collected  from  a volume  entitled, 
“ Sketches  from  Nature,  by  John  M’Diarmid,  ” a gen- 
tleman who  conducts  an  able  provincial  paper  in  the 
town  of  Dumfries. 

Helen  was  the  daughter  of  a small  farmer  in  a place 
called  Dalwhairn,  in  the  parish  of  Irongray;  where, 
after  the  death  of  her  father,  she  continued,  with  the 
unassuming  piety  of  a Scottish  peasant,  to  support  her 
mother  by  her  own  unremitted  labour  and  privations ; 
a case  so  common,  that  even  yet,  I am  proud  to  say, 
few  of  my  countrywomen  would  shrink  from  the  duty. 

Helen  Walker  was  held  among  her  equals  pensy , that 
is,  proud  or  conceited;  but  the  facts  brought  to  prove 
this  accusation  seem  only  to  evince  a strength  of  char- 
acter superior  to  those  around  her.  Thus  it  was  re- 
marked, that  when  it  thundered,  she  went  with  her 
work  and  her  Bible  to  the  front  of  the  cottage,  alleging 
that  the  Almighty  could  smite  in  the  city  as  well  as  in 
the  field. 

Mr.  M’Diarmid  mentions  more  particularly  the  mis- 
fortune of  her  sister,  which  he  supposes  to  have  taken 


xxxviii 


POSTSCRIPT. 


place  previous  to  1736.  Helen  Walker,  declining  every 
proposal  of  saving  her  relation’s  life  at  the  expense  of 
truth,  borrowed  a sum  of  money  sufficient  for  her 
journey,  walked  the  whole  distance  to  London  barefoot, 
and  made  her  way  to  John  Duke  of  Argyle.  She  was 
heard  to  say,  that,  by  the  Almighty’s  strength,  she 
had  been  enabled  to  meet  the  Duke  at  the  most  critical 
moment,  which,  if  lost,  would  have  caused  the  inevit- 
able forfeiture  of  her  sister’s  life. 

Isabella,  or  Tibby  Walker,  saved  from  the  fate  which 
impended  over  her,  was  married  by  the  person  who 
had  wronged  her,  (named  W&Hglb ) and  lived  happily 
for  great  part  of  a century,  uniformly  acknowledging 
the  extraordinary  affection  to  which  she  owed  her 
preservation. 

Helen  Walker  died  about  the  end  of  the  year  1791, 
and  her  remains  are  interred  in  the  churchyard  of  her 
native  parish  of  Irongray,  in  a romantic  cemetery  on 
the  banks  of  the  Cairn.  That  a character  so  dis- 
tinguished for  her  (mdaunted  love  of  virtue,  lived  and 
died  in  poverty,  if  not  want,  serves  only  to  show  us 
how  insignificant,  in  the  sight  of  Heaven,  are  our  prin- 
cipal objects  of  ambition  upon  earth. 


THE 


HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN. 


CHAPTER  1 

BEING  INTRODUCTORY. 

So  down  thy  hill,  romantic  Ashbourn,  glides 
The  Derby  dilly,  carrying  six  insides. 

Frere. 

The  times  have  changed  in  nothing  more  (we  fol- 
low as  we  were  wont  the  manuscript  of  Peter  Pat- 
tieson)  than  in  the  rapid  conveyance  of  intelligence 
and  communication  betwixt  one  part  of  Scotland 
and  another.  It  is  not  above  twenty  or  thirty 
years,  according  to  the  evidence  of  many  credible 
witnesses  now  alive,  since  a little  miserable  horse- 
caxt,  performing  with  difficulty  a journey  of  thirty 
miles  per  diem , carried  our  mails  from  the  capital 
of  Scotland  to  its  extremity.  Nor  was  Scotland 
much  more  deficient  in  these  accommodations,  than 
our  richer  sister  had  been  about  eighty  years  before. 
Fielding,  in  his  Tom  Jones,  and  Farquhar,  in  a 
little  farce  called  the  Stage-Coach,  have  ridiculed 
the  slowness  of  these  vehicles  of  public  accommo- 
dation. According  to  the  latter  authority,  the 
highest  bribe  could  only  induce  the  coachman  to 


2 


TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 


promise  to  anticipate  by  half  an  hour  the  usual  time 
of  his  arrival  at  the  Bull  and  Mouth. 

But  in  both  countries  these  ancient,  slow,  and 
sure  modes  of  conveyance  are  now  alike  unknown ; 
mail-coach  races  against  mail-coach,  and  high-flyer 
against  high-flyer,  through  the  most  remote  dis- 
tricts of  Britain.  And  in  our  village  alone,  three 
post-coaches,  and  four  coaches  with  men  armed, 
and  in  scarlet  cassocks,  thunder  through  the  streets 
each  day,  and  rival  in  brilliancy  and  noise  the  in- 
vention of  the  celebrated  tyrant : — 

Demens,  qui  nimbos  et  non  imitabile  fulmen, 

JEre  et  cornipedum  pulsu,  simularat  equorum. 

Now  and  then,  to  complete  the  resemblance,  and 
to  correct  the  presumption  of  the  venturous  cha- 
rioteers, it  does  happen  that  the  career  of  these  dash- 
ing rivals  of  Salmoneus  meets  with  as  undesirable 
and  violent  a termination  as  that  of  their  proto- 
type. It  is  on  such  occasions  that  the  Insides  and 
Outsides,  to  use  the  appropriate  vehicular  phrases, 
have  reason  to  rue  the  exchange  of  the  slow  and 
safe  motion  of  the  ancient  Fly -coaches,  which,  com- 
pared with  the  chariots  of  Mr.  Palmer,  so  ill  de- 
serve the  name.  The  ancient  vehicle  used  to  settle 
quietly  down,  like  a ship  scuttled  and  left  to  sink 
by  the  gradual  influx  of  the  waters,  while  the 
modern  is  smashed  to  pieces  with  the  velocity  of 
the  same  vessel  hurled  against  breakers,  or  rather 
with  the  fury  of  a bomb  bursting  at  the  conclusion 
of  its  career  through  the  air.  The  late  ingenious 
Mr.  Pennant,  whose  humour  it  was  to  set  his  face 
in  stern  opposition  to  these  speedy  conveyances, 
had  collected,  I have  heard,  a formidable  list  of 
such  casualties,  which,  joined  to  the  imposition  of 


THE  HEART  OE  MID-LOTIIIAN. 


3 


innkeepers,  whose  charges  the  passengers  had  no 
time  to  dispute,  the  sauciness  of  the  coachman,  and 
the  uncontrolled  and  despotic  authority  of  the 
tyrant  called  the  Guard,  held  forth  a picture  of 
horror,  to  which  murder,  theft,  fraud,  and  pecula- 
tion, lent  all  their  dark  colouring.  But  that  which 
gratifies  the  impatience  of  the  human  disposition 
will  be  practised  in  the  teeth  of  danger,  and  in  de- 
fiance of  admonition ; and,  in  despite  of  the  Cam- 
brian antiquary,  mail-coaches  not  only  roll  their 
thunders  round  the  base  of  Penman-Maur  and 
Cader-Edris,  but 

Frighted  Skiddaw  hears  afar 

The  rattling  of  the  unscythed  car. 


And  perhaps  the  echoes  of  Ben-Nevis  may  soon  be 
awakened  by  the  bugle,  not  of  a warlike  chieftain, 
but  of  the  guard  of  a mail-coach. 

It  was  a fine  summer  day,  and  our  little  school 
had  obtained  a half  holyday,  by  the  intercession  of 
a good-humoured  visitor.1  *1  expected  by  the 
coach  a new  number  of  an  interesting  periodical 
publication,  and  walked  forward  on  the  highway 
to  meet  it,  with  the  impatience  which  Cowper  has 
described  as  actuating  the  resident  in  the  country 
when  longing  for  intelligence  from  the  mart  of 
news : 

“ The  grand  debate, 

The  popular  harangue,  — the  tart  reply,  — 

The  logic,  and  the  wisdom,  and  the  wit, 

And  the  loud  laugh,  — I long  to  know  them  all;  — 

I burn  to  set  the  imprison’d  wranglers  free, 

And  give  them  voice  and  utterance  again.” 


1 His  Honour  Gilbert  Goslinn  of  Gandercleuch ; for  I love  to  be 
precise  in  matters  of  importance.  — J.  C, 


TALES  OE  MY  LANDLORD. 


It  was  with  such  feelings  that  I eyed  the  approach 
of  the  new  coach,  lately  established  on  our  road, 
and  known  by  the  name  of  the  Somerset,  which, 
to  say  truth,  possesses  some  interest  for  me,  even 
when  it  conveys  no  such  important  information. 
The  distant  tremulous  sound  of  its  wheels  was 
heard  just  as  I gained  the  summit  of  the  gentle 
ascent,  called  the  Gp^hn-hr^e,  from  which  you  com- 
mand an  extensive  view  down  the  valley  of  the  river 
Gander.  The  public  road,  which  comes  up  the  side 
of  that  stream,  and  crosses  it  at  a bridge  about  a 
quarter  of  a mile  from  the  place  where  I was 
standing,  runs  partly  through  enclosures  and  plan- 
tations, and  partly  through  open  pasture  land.  It 
is  a childish  amusement  perhaps,  — but(piy  life  has 
been  spent  with  children,  and  why  should  not  my 
pleasures  be  like  theirs ?)—  childish  as  it  is  then,  I 
must  own  I have  had  great  pleasure  in  watching 
the  approach  of  the  carriage,  where  the  openings  of 
the  road  permit  it  to  be  seen.  The  gay  glancing 
of  the  equipage,  its  diminished  and  toy-like  appear- 
ance at  a distance,  contrasted  with  the  rapidity  of 
its  motion,  its  appearance  and  disappearance  at  in- 
tervals, and  the  progressively  increasing  sounds  that 
announce  its  nearer  approach,  have  all  to  the  idle 
and  listless  spectator,  who  has  nothing  more  impor- 
tant to  attend  to,  something  of  awakening  interest. 
The  ridicule  may  attach  to  me,  which  is  flung  upon 
many  an  honest  citizen,  wjm^watches  from  the  win- 
dow of  his  villa  the  passagejpf  the  stage-coach  ; but 
it  is  a very  naturaTsource  of  amusement  notwith- 
standing, and  many  of  those  who  join  in  the  laugh 
are  perhaps  not  unused  to  resort  to  it  in  secret. 

On  the  present  occasion,  however,  fate  had  de- 
creed that  I should  not  enjoy  the  consummation  of 


TIIE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN. 


S 


the  amusement  by  seeing  the  coach  rattle  past  me 
as  I sat  on  the  turf,  and  hearing  the  hoarse  grating 
voice  of  the  guard  as  he  skimmed  forth  for  my 
grasp  the  expected  packet,  without  the  carriage 
checking  its  course  for  an  instant.  I had  seen  the 
vehicle  thunder  down  the  hill  that  leads  to  the 
bridge  with  more  than  its  usual  impetuosity,  glit- 
tering all  the  while  by  flashes  from  a cloudy  taber- 
nacle of  the  dust  which  it  had  raised,  and  leaving 
a train  behind  it  on  the  road  resembling  a wreath 
of  summer  mist.  But  it  did  not  appear  on  the  top 
of  the  nearer  bank  within  the  usual  space  of  three 
minutes,  which  frequent  observation  had  enabled 
me  to  ascertain  was  the  medium  time  for  crossing 
the  bridge  and  mounting  the  ascent.  When  double 
that  space  had  elapsed,  I became  alarmed,  and 
walked  hastily  forward.  As  I came  in  sight  of  the 
bridge,  the  cause  of  delay  was  too  manifest,  for  the 
Somerset  had  made  a summerset  in  good  earnest, 
and  overturned  so  completely,  that  it  was  literally 
resting  upon  the  ground,  with  the  roof  undermost, 
and  the  four  wheels  in  the  air.  The  “ exertions  of 
the  guard  and  coachman,1 ” both  of  whom  were 
gratefully  commemorated  in  the  newspapers,  having 
succeeded  in  disentangling  the  horses  by  cutting 
the  harness,  were  now  proceeding  to  extricate  the 
insides  by  a sort  of  summary  and  Caesarean  process 
of  delivery,  forcing  the  hinges  from  one  of  the  doors 
which  they  could  not  open  otherwise.  In  this  man- 
ner were  two  disconsolate  damsels  set  at  liberty 
from  the  womb  of  the  leathern  conveniency.  As 
they  immediately  began  to  settle  their  clothes, 
which  were  a little  deranged,  as  may  be  presumed, 
I concluded  they  had  received  no  injury,  and  did 
not  venture  to  obtrude  my  services  at  their  toilette, 


6 


TALES  OE  MY  LANDLORD. 


for  which,  I understand,  I have  since  been  reflected 
upon  by  the  fair  sufferers.  The  outsides , who  must 
have  been  discharged  from  their  elevated  situation 
by  a shock  resembling  the  springing  of  a mine, 
escaped,  nevertheless,  with  the  usual  allowance  of 
scratches  and  bruises,  excepting  three,  who,  having 
been  pitched  into  the  river  Gander,  were  dimly 
seen  contending  with  the  tide,  like  the  relics  of 
iEneas’s  shipwreck,  — 

Bari  apparent,  nantes  in  gurgite  vasto. 

I applied  my  poor  exertions  where  they  seemed 
to  be  most  needed,  and  with  the  assistance  of  one  or 
two  of  the  company  who  had  escaped  unhurt,  easily 
succeeded  in  fishing  out  two  of  the  unfortunate 
passengers,  who  were  stout  active  young  fellows ; 
and  but  for  the  preposterous  length  of  their  great- 
coats, and  the  equally  fashionable  latitude  and  lon- 
gitude of  their  Wellington  trousers,  would  have  re- 
quired little  assistance  from  any  one.  The  third 
was  sickly  and  elderly,  and  might  have  perished  but 
for  the  efforts  used  to  preserve  him. 

When  the  two  great-coated  gentlemen  had  extri- 
cated themselves  from  the  river,  and  shaken  their 
ears  like  huge  water-dogs,  a violent  altercation  en- 
sued betwixt  them  and  the  coachman  and  guard, 
concerning  the  cause  of  their  overthrow.  In  the 
course  of  the  squabble,  I observed  that  both  my 
new  acquaintances  belonged  to  the  law,  and  that 
their  professional  sharpness  was  likely  to  prove  an 
overmatch  for  the  surly  and  official  tone  of  the 
guardians  of  the  vehicle.  The  dispute  ended  in  the 
guard  assuring  the  passengers  that  they  should  have 
seats  in  a heavy  coach  which  would  pass  that  spot  in 
less  than  half  an  hour,  providing  it  were  not  full 


THE  HEART ‘OF  MID-LOTHIAN. 


7 


Chance  seemed  to  favour  this  arrangement,  for  when 
the  expected  vehicle  arrived,  there  were  only  two 
places  occupied  in  a carriage  which  professed  to 
carry  six.  The  two  ladies  who  had  been  disinterred 
out  of  the  fallen  vehicle  were  readily  admitted, 
but  positive  objections  were  stated  by  those  previ- 
ously in  possession  to  the  admittance  of  the  two 
lawyers,  whose  wetted  garments  being  much  of  the 
nature  of  well-soaked  spunges,  there  was  every  rea- 
son to  believe  they  would  refund  a considerable  part 
of  the  water  they  had  collected,  to  the  inconve- 
nience of  their  fellow-passengers.  On  the  other 
hand,  the  lawyers  rejected  a seat  on  the  roof,  alle- 
ging that  they  had  only  taken  that  station  for  plea- 
sure for  one  stage,  but  were  entitled  in  all  respects 
to  free  egress  and  regress  from  the  interior,  to  which 
their  contract  positively  referred.  After  some  alter- 
cation, in  which  something  was  said  upon  the  edict 
Nautce , caupones , stabularii , the  coach  went  off, 
leaving  the  learned  gentlemen  to  abide  by  their 
action  of  damages. 

They  immediately  applied  to  me  to  guide  them  to 
the  next  village  and  the  best  inn  ; and  from  the 
account  I gave  them  of  the  Wallace-Head,  declared 
they  were  much  better  pleased  to  stop  there  than 
to  go  forward  upon  the  terms  of  that  impudent 
scoundrel  the  guard  of  the  Somerset.  All  that 
they  now  wanted  was  a lad  to  carry  their  travelling 
bags,  who  was  easily  procured  from  an  adjoining 
cottage ; and  they  prepared  to  walk  forward,  when 
they  found  there  was  another  passenger  in  the  same 
deserted  situation  with  themselves.  This  was  the 
elderly  and  sickly-looking  person,  who  had  been 
precipitated  into  the  river  along  with  the  two  young 
lawyers.  He,  it  seems,  had  been  too  modest  to 


8 


TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 


push  his  own  plea  against  the  coachman  when  he 
saw  that  of  his  betters  rejected,  and  now  remained 
behind  with  a look  of  timid  anxiety,  plainly  inti- 
mating that  he  was  deficient  in  those  means  of 
recommendation  which  are  necessary  passports  to 
the  hospitality  of  an  inn. 

I ventured  to  call  the  attention  of  the  two  dash- 
ing young  blades,  for  such  they  seemed,  to  the  deso- 
late condition  of  their  fellow-traveller.  They  took 
the  hint  with  ready  good-nature. 

“ O,  true,  Mr.  Dunover,”  said  one  of  the  young- 
sters, “ you  must  not  remain  on  the  pav4  here  ; you 
must  go  and  have  some  dinner  with  us  — Halkit 
and  I must  have  a post-chaise  to  go  on,  at  all  events, 
and  we  will  set  you  down  wherever  suits  you 
best.” 

The  poor  man,  for  such  his  dress,  as  well  as  his 
diffidence,  bespoke  him,  made  the  sort  of  acknow- 
ledging bow  by  which  says  a Scotchman,  “ It’s  too 
much  honour  for  the  like  of  me;”  and  followed 
humbly  behind  his  gay  patrons,  all  three  besprink- 
ling the  dusty  road  as  they  walked  along  with  the 
moisture  of  their  drenched  garments,  and  exhibit- 
ing the  singular  and  somewhat  ridiculous  appear- 
ance of  three  persons  suffering  from  the  opposite 
extreme  of  humidity,  while  the  summer  sun  was  at 
its  height,  and  every  thing  else  around  them  had 
the  expression  of  heat  and  drought.  The  ridicule 
did  not  escape  the  young  gentlemen  themselves, 
and  they  had  made  what  might  be  received  as  one 
or  two  tolerable  jests  on  the  subject  before  they  had 
advanced  far  on  their  peregrination. 

“We  cannot  complain,  like  Cowley,”  said  one  of 
them,  “ that  Gideon’s  fleece  remains  dry,  while  all 
around  is  moist;  this  is  the  reverse  of  the  miracle.'" 


THE  HEART  OF  MlD~LOTliIAN.  9 

“ We  ought  to  be  received  with  gratitude  in  this 
good  town ; we  bring  a supply  of  what  they  seem 
to  need  most,”  said  Halkit. 

“And  distribute  it  with  unparalleled  generos- 
ity,” replied  his  companion  ; “ performing  the  part 
of  three  water-carts  for  the  benefit  of  their  dusty 
roads.” 

“ We  come  before  them,  too,”  said  Halkit,  “ in 
full  professional  force  — counsel  and  agent  ” — 

“And  client,”  said  the  young  advocate,  looking 
behind  him.  And  then  added,  lowering  his  voice, 
“ that  looks  as  if  he  had  kept  such  dangerous  com- 
pany too  long.” 

It  was,  indeed,  too  true,  that  the  humble  follower 
of  the  gay  young  men  had  the  threadbare  appear- 
ance of  a worn-out  litigant^/find  I could  not  but 
smile  at  the  conceit,  though  anxious  to  conceal  my 
mirth  from  the  object  of  it. 

When  we  arrived  at  the  Wallace Inn,  the  elder 

of  the  Edinburgh  gentlemen,  and  whom  I under- 
stood to  be  a barrister,  insisted  that  I should  re- 
main and  take  part  of  their  dinner;  and  their 
enquiries  and  demands  speedily  put  my  landlord  and 
his  whole  family  in  motion  to  produce  the  best 
cheer  which  the  larder  and  cellar  afforded,  and  pro- 
ceed to  cook  it  to  the  best  advantage,  a science  in 
which  our  entertainers  seemed  to  be  admirably 
skilled.  In  other  respects  they  were  lively  young 
men,  in  the  hey-day  of  youth  and  good  spirits,  play- 
ing the  part  which  is  common  to  the  higher  classes 
of  the  law  at  Edinburgh,  and  which  nearly  resem- 
bles that  of  the  young  templars  in  the  days  of  Steele 
and  Addison.  An  air  of  giddy  gaiety  mingled  with 
the  good  sense,  taste,  and  information  which  their 
conversation  exhibited;  and  it  seemed  to  be  theii 


IO 


TALES  OE  MY  LANDLORD. 


object  to  unite  the  character  of  men  of  fashion  and 
lovers  of  the  polite  arts.  A fine  gentleman*  bred 
up  in  the  thorough  idleness  and  inanity  of  pursuit, 
which  I understand  is  absolutely  necessary  to  the 
character  in  perfection,  might  in  all  probability  have 
traced  a tinge  of  professional  pedantry  which  marked 
pie  barrister  in  spite  of  his  efforts,  and  something 
of  active  bustle  in  his  companion,  and  would  cer- 
tainly have  detected  more  than  a fashionable  mix- 
ture of  information  and  animated  interest  in  the 
language  of  both.  But  to  me,  who  had  no  preten- 
sions to  be  so  critical,  my  companions  seemed  to 
form  a very  happy  mixture  of  good-breeding  and 
liberal  information,  with  a disposition  to  lively  rat- 
tle, pun,  and  jest,  amusing  to  a grave  man,  because 
it  is  what  he  himself  can  least  easily  command. 

The  thin  pale-faced  man,  whom  their  good-na- 
ture had  brought  into  their  society,  looked  out  of 
place,  as  well  as  out  of  spirits  ; sate  on  the  edge  of 
his  seat,  and  kept  the  chair  at  two  feet  distance 
from  the  table;  thus  incommoding  himself  consi- 
derably in  conveying  the  victuals  to  his  mouth,  as 
if  by  way  of  penance  for  partaking  of  them  in  the 
company  of  his  superiors.  A short  time  after  din- 
ner, declining  all  entreaty  to  partake  of  the  wine, 
which  circulated  freely  round,  he  informed  himself 
of  the  hour  when  the  chaise  had  been  ordered  to 
attend  ; and  saying  he  would  be  in  readiness,  mo- 
destly withdrew  from  the  apartment 

“ Jack,”  said  the  barrister  to  his  companion,  “ I 
remember  that  poor  fellow’s  face ; you  spoke  more 
truly  than  you  were  aware  of;  he  really najine^ of 
my  clients,  |>oorjn^” 

" “ Poor  man  ! ” echoed  Halkit  — “ I suppose  you 
mean  he  is  your  one  and  only  client  ? ” 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN.  n 

“That’s  not  my  fault,  Jack.”  replied  the  other, 
whose  name  I discovered  was  Hardie.  “ You  are 
to  give  me  all  your  business,  you  know ; and  if  you 
have  none,  the  learned  gentleman  here  knows  no- 
thing can  come  of  nothing.” 

“You  seem  to  have  brought  something  to  no- 
thing though,  in  the  case  of  that  honest  man.  He 
looks  as  if  he  were  just  about  to  honour  with  his 
residence  the  Heart  of  Mid-Lothian.” 

“You  are  mistaken — he  is  just  delivered  from 
it.  — Our  friend  here  looks  for  an  explanation.  Pray, 
Mr.  Pattieson,  have  you  been  in  Edinburgh  ? 99 
I answered  in  the  affirmative. 

“Then  you  must  have  passed,  occasionally  at 
least,  though  probably  not  so  faithfully  as  I am 
doomed  to  do,  through  a narrow  intricate  passage, 
leading  out  of  the  north-west  corner  of  the  Par- 
liament Square,  and  passing  by  a high  and  antique 
building,  with  turrets  and  iron  grates, 

Making  good  the  saying  odd, 

Near  the  church  and  far  from  God”  — 

Mr.  Halkit  broke  in  upon  his  learned  counsel,  to 
contribute  bis  moiety  to  the  riddle  — “ Having  at 
the  door  the  sign  of  the  Red  Man”  — 

“And  being  on  the  whole,”  resumed  the  coun- 
sellor, interrupting  his  friend  in  his  turn,  “ a sort 
of  place  where  misfortune  is  happily  confounded 
with  guilt,  where  all  who  are  in  wish  to  get  out  ” — 
“ And  where  none  who  have  the  good  luck  to  be 
out,  wish  to  get  in,”  added  his  companion. 

“ I conceive  you,  gentlemen,”  replied  I ; “ you 
mean  the  prison.” 

“ The  prison,”  added  the  young  lawyer  — “ You 
have  hit  it  — the  very  reverend  Tolbooth  itself 


12 


TALES  OE  MI  LANDLORD. 


and  let  me  tell  you,  you  are  obliged  to  us  for  de- 
scribing it  with  so  much  modesty  and  brevity ; for 
with  whatever  amplifications  we  might  have  chosen 
to  decorate  the  subject,  you  lay  entirely  at  our 
mercy,  since  the  Fathers  Conscript  of  our  city  have 
decreed,  that  the  venerable  edifice  itself  shall  not 
remain  in  existence  to  confirm  or  to  confute  us/' 
“Then  the  Tolbooth  of  Edinburgk-is---caUe(L>the 
Heart  of  Mid-Lothian  ? ” said  I. 

“ So  termed  and  reputed,  I assure  you.” 

“I  think,”  said  I,  with  the  bashful  diffidence 
with  which  a man  lets  slip  a pun  in  presence  of  his 
superiors,  “the  metropolitan  county  may,  in  that 
case,  be  said  to  have  a sad  hearts 

“Right  as  my  glove,  Mr.  Pattieson,”  added  Mr. 
Hardie ; “ and  a close  heart,  and  a hard  heart  — 
Keep  it  up,  Jack.” 

“ And  a wicked  heart,  and  a poor  heart,”  answered 
Halkit,  doing  his  best. 

“ And  yet  it  may  be  called  in  some  sort  a strong 
heart,  and  a high  heart”  rejoined  the  advocate. 
“ You  see  I can  put  you  both  out  of  heart.” 

“I  have  played  all  my  hearts,”  said  the  younger 
gentleman. 

“Then  well  have  another  lead,”  answered  his 
companion.  — “ And  as  to  the  old  and  condemned 
Tolbooth,  what  pity  the  same  honour  cannot  be 
done  to  it  as  has  been  done  to  many  of  its  inmates. 
Why  should  not  the  Tolbooth  have  its  ‘ Last  Speech, 
Confession,  and  Dying  Words?'  The  old  stones 
would  be  just  as  conscious  of  the  honour  as  many 
a poor  devil  who  has  dangled  like  a tassel  at  the 
west  end  of  it,  while  the  hawkers  were  shouting  a 
confession  the  culprit  had  never  heard  of.” 

“I  am  afraid,”  said  I,  “if  I might  presume  to 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN. 


13 


give  my  opinion,  it  would  be  a tale  of  unvaried 
sorrow  and  guilt.” 

“ Not  entirely,  my  friend,”  said  Hardie  ; “a  prison 
is  a world  within  itself,  and  has  its  own  business, 
griefs,  and  joys,  peculiar  to  its  circle.  Its  inmates 
are  sometimes  short-lived,  but  so  are  soldiers  on 
service  ; they  are  poor  relatively  to  the  world  with- 
out, but  there  are  degrees  of  wealth  and  poverty 
among  them,  and  so  some  are  relatively  rich  also. 
They  cannot  stir  abroad,  but  neither  can  the  gar- 
rison  of  a besieged  fort,  or  the  crew  of  a ship  at  sea ; 
and  they  are  not  under  a dispensation  quite  so 
desperate  as  either,  for  they  may  have  as  much 
food  as  they  have  money  to  buy,  and  are  not 
obliged  to  work  whether  they  have  food  or  not.” 

“ But  what  variety  of  incident,”  said  I,  (not  with- 
out a secret  view  to  my  present  task,)  “ could  pos- 
sibly be  derived  from  such  a work  as  you  are 
pleased  to  talk  of  ? ” 

“ Infinite,”  replied  the  young  advocate.  “ What- 
ever of  guilt,  crime,  imposture,  folly,  unheard-of 
misfortunes,  and  unlooked-for  change  of  fortune, 
can  be  found  to  chequer  life,  my  Last  Speech  of 
the  Tolbooth  should  illustrate  with  examples  suffi- 
cient to  gorge  even  the  1 ’ 11  1 


of  fictitious  narratives  has  to  rack  his  brains  for 
means  to  diversify  his  tale,  and  after  all  can  hardly 
hit  upon  characters  or  incidents  which  have  not  been 
used  again  and  again,  until  they  are  familiar  to  the 
eye  of  the  reader,  so  that  the  developement,  enleve- 
ment, the  desperate  wound  of  which  the  hero  never 
dies,  the  burning  fever  from  which  the  heroine  is 
sure  to  recover,  become  a mere  matter  of  course. 
I join  with  my  honest  friend  Crabbe,  and  have  an 


tite  for  the  wonderful 


14 


TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD* 


unlucky  propensity  to  hope  when  hope  is  lost,  and 
to  rely  upon  the  cork-jacket,  which  carries  the 
heroes  of  romance  safe  through  all  the  billows  of 
affliction.”  He  then  declaimed  the  following  pas- 
sage, rather  with  too  much  than  too  little  emphasis : 

“ Much  have  I fear’d,  but  am  no  more  afraid, 

When  some  chaste  beauty,  by  some  wretch  betray’d, 

Is  drawn  away  with  such  distracted  speed, 

That  she  anticipates  a dreadful  deed. 

Not  so  do  I — Let  solid  walls  impound 
The  captive  fair,  and  dig  a moat  around  ; 

Let  there  be  brazen  locks  and  bars  of  steel, 

And  keepers  cruel,  such  as  never  feel ; 

With  not  a single  note  the  purse  supply, 

And  when  she  begs,  let  men  and  maids  deny  ; 

Be  windows  there  from  which  she  dares  not  fall, 

And  help  so  distant,  ’tis  in  vain  to  call ; 

Still  means  of  freedom  will  some  Power  devise, 

And  from  the  baffled  ruffian  snatch  his  prize.  ” 

“ The  end  of  uncertainty,”  he  concluded,  “ is  the 
death  of  interest ; and  hence  it  happens  that  no 


“Hear  w ” returned  his  companion. 

“ I assure  you,  Mr.  Pattieson,  you  will  hardly  visit 
this  learned  gentleman7T)ut  you  are  likely  to  find 
the  new  novel  most  in  repute  lying  on  his  table,  — 
snugly  intrenched,  however,  beneath  Stair’s  Insti- 
tutes or  an  open  volume  of  Morrison's  Decisions.  ” 
“Do  I deny  it?”  said  the  hopeful  jurisconsult, 
“ or  wherefore  should  I,  since  it  is  well  known 
these  Dalilahs  seduce  my  wisers  and  my  betters  ? 
May  they  not  be  found  lurking  amidst  the  multi- 
plied memorials  of  our  most  distinguished  counsel, 
and  even  peeping  from  under  the  cushion  of  a 
judge’s  arm-chair  ? Our  seniors  at  the  bar,  within 
the  bar,  and  even  on  the  bench,  read  novels  ; and, 


one  now 


THE  HEART  OE  MID-LOTHIAN. 


15 


if  not  belied,  some  of  them  have  written  novels 
into  the  bargain.  I only  say,  that  I read  from 
habit  and  from  indolence,  not  from  real  interest; 
that,  like  Ancient  PisToT  devouring  his  leek,  I read 
and  swear  till  I get  to  the  end  of  the  narrative. 
But  not  so  in  the  real  records  of  human  vagaries  — 
not  so  in  the  State  Trials,  or  in  the  Books  of  Ad- 
journal, where  every  now  and  then  you  read  new 
pages  of  the  human  heart,  and  turns  of  fortune  far 
beyond  what  the  boldest  novelist  ever  attempted 
to  produce  from  the  coinage  of  his  brain.” 

“ And  for  such  narratives,”  I asked,  “ you  sup- 
pose the  History  of  the  Prison  of  Edinburgh  might 
afford  appropriate  UiAlMlaTs  ?” 

“ In  a degree  unusually  ample,  my  dear  sir,”  said 
Hardie  — “Fill  your  glass,  however,  in  the  mean- 
while. Was  it  not  for  many  years  the  place  in 
which  the  Scottish  parliament  met  ? Was  it  not 
James’s  place  of  refuge,  when  the  mob,  inflamed 
by  a seditious  preacher,  broke  forth  on  him  with  the 
cries  of  ‘ The  sword  of  the  Lord  and  of  Gideon  — 
bring  forth  the  wicked  Haman  ? ’ Since  that  time 
how  many  hearts  have  throbbed  within  these  walls, 
as  the  tolling  of  the  neighbouring  bell  announced 
to  them  how  fast  the  sands  of  their  life  were  ebb- 
ing ; how  many  must  have  sunk  at  the  sound  — how 
many  were  supported  by  stubborn  pride  and  dogged 
resolution  — how  many  by  the  consolations  of  reli- 
gion? Have  there  not  been  some,  who,  looking 
back  on  the  motives  of  their  crimes,  were  scarce 
able  to  understand  how  they  should  have  had  such 
temptation  as  to  seduce  them  from  virtue  ? and 
have  there  not,  perhaps,  been  others,  who,  sensible 
of  their  innocence,  were  divided  between  indig- 
nation at  the  undeserved  doom  which  they  were 


i6 


TALES  OE  MY  LANDLORD. 


to  undergo,  consciousness  that  they  had  not  de- 
served it,  and  racking  anxiety  to  discover  some  way 
in  which  they  might  yet  vindicate  themselves  ? Do 
you  suppose  any  of  these  deep,  powerful,  and  agi- 
tating feelings,  can  be  recorded  and  perused  with- 
out exciting  a corresponding  depth  of  deep,  power- 
ful, and  agitating  interest?  0!  do  but  wait  till  I 
publish  the  Causes  Celebres  of  Caledonia,  and  you 
will  find  no  want  of  a novel  or  a tragedy  for  some 
time  to  come.  The  true  thing  will  triumph  over 
the  brightest  inventions  of  the  most  ardent  imagi- 
nation. Magna  est  veritas , et  prcevalebit .” 

“ I have  understood,”  said  I,  encouraged  by  the 
affability  of  my  rattling  entertainer,  “ that  less  of 
this  interest  must  attach  to  Scottish  jurisprudence 
than  to  that  of  any  other  country.  The  general 
morality  of  our  people,  their  sober  and  prudent 
habits  ” — 

“ Secure  them,”  said  the  barrister,  “ against  any 
great  increase  of  professional  thieves  and  depre- 
dators, but  not  against  wild  and  wayward  -starts  of 

dinary--4eseriptT0n,  which  are  precisely  those  to  the 
detail  of  which  we  listen  with  thrilling  interest. 
England  has  been  much  longer  a highly  civilized 
country  ; her  subjects  have  been  very  strictly  amen- 
able to  laws  administered  without  fear  or  favour,  a 
complete  division  of  labour  has  taken  place  among 
her  subjects  ; and  the  very  thieves  and  robbers  form 
a distinct  class  in  society,  subdivided  among  them- 
selves according  to  the  subject  of  their  depreda- 
tions, and  the  mode  in  which  they  carry  them  on, 
acting  upon  regular  habits  and  principles,  which 
can  be  calculated  and  anticipated  at  Bow  Street, 
Hatton  Garden,  or  the  Old  Bailey.  Our  sister 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN.  17 

kingdom  is  like  a cultivated  field,  — the  farmer 
expects  that,  in  spite  of  all  his  care,  a certain 
number  of  weeds  will  rise  with  the  corn,  and  can 
tell  you  beforehand  their  names  and  appearance. 
But  Scotland  is  like  one  of  her  own  Highland 
glens,  and  the  moralist  who  reads  the  records  of 
her  criminal  jurisprudence,  will  find  as  many  curi- 
ous anomalous  facts  in  the  history  of  mind,  as  the 
botanist  will  detect  rare  specimens  among  her 
dingles  and  cliffs.” 

“ And  that's  all  the  good  you  have  obtained  from 
three  perusals  of  the  Commentaries  on  Scottish 
Criminal  Jurisprudence  ? ” said  his  companion.  “ I 
suppose  the  learned  author  very  little  thinks  that 
the  facts  which  his  erudition  and  acuteness  have 
accumulated  for  the  illustration  of  legal  doctrines, 
might  be  so  arranged  as  to  form  a sort  of  appen- 
dix to  the  half-bound  and  slip-shod  volumes  of  the 
circulating  library.” 

“IT1  bet  you  a pint  of  claret,”  said  the  elder 
lawyer,  “ that  he  will  not  feel  sore  at  the  compari- 
son. But  as  we  say  at  the  bar,  ‘ I beg  I may  not  be 
interrupted  ; ’ I have  much  more  to  say  upon  my 
Scottish  collection  of  Causes  Celebres . You  will 
please  recollect  the  scope  and  motive  given  for  the 
contrivance  and  execution  of  many  extraordinary 
and  daring  crimes,  by  the  long  civil  dissensions  of 
Scotland — by  the  hereditary  jurisdictions,  which, 
until  1748,  rested  the  investigation  of  crimes  in 
judges,  ignorant,  partial,  or  interested  — by  the 
habits  of  the  gentry,  shut  up  in  their  distant  and  / 
solitary  mansion-houses,  nursing  their  revengeful 
passions  just  to  keep  their  blood  from  stagnating 
— not  to  mention  that  amiable  national  qualifica- 
tion, called  the  perfervidum  ingenium  Scotorum, 


18  TALES  OE  MY  LANDLORD. 

which  our  lawyers  join  in  alleging  as  a reason  for 
the  severity  of  some  of  our  enactments.  When  I 
come  to  treat  of  matters  so  mysterious,  deep,  and 
dangerous,  as  these  circumstances  have  given  rise  to, 
the  blood  of  each  reader  shall  be  curdled,  and  his 
epidermis  crisped  into  goose  skin.  — But,  hist ! — 
here  comes  the  landlord,  with  tidings,  I suppose,  that 
the  chaise  is  ready.” 

It  was  no  such  thing  — the  tidings  bore,  that  no 
chaise  could  be  had  that  evening,  for  Sir  Peter 
Plyejn  had  carried  forward  my  landlord’s  two  pairs 
of  horses  that  morning  to  the  ancient  royal  .borough 
of  Bubbleburgh,  to  look  after  his  interest  there. 
But  as  Bubbleburgh  is  only  one  of  a set  of  five  bor- 
oughs which  club  their  shares  for  a member  of 
parliament,  Sir  Peter’s  adversary  had  judiciously 
watched  his  departure,  in  order  to  commence  a can- 
vass in  the  no  less  royal  borough  of  Bitem,  which,  as 
all  the  world  knows,  lies  at  the  very  termination  of 
Sir  Peter’s  avenue,  and  has  been  held  in  leading- 
strings  by  him  and  his  ancestors  for  time  imme- 
morial. Now,  Sir  Peter  was  thus  placed  in  the 
situation  of  an  ambitious  monarch,  who,  after  hav- 
ing commenced  a daring  inroad  into  his  enemies’ 
territories,  is  suddenly  recalled  by  an  invasion  of 
his  own  hereditary  dominions.  He  was  obliged  in 
consequence  to  return  from  the  half-won  borough 
of  Bubbleburgh,  to  look  after  the  half-lost  borough 
of  Bitem,  and  the  two  pairs  of  horses  which  had 
carried  him  that  morning  to  Bubbleburgh,  were 
now  forcibly  detained  to  transport  him,  his  agent, 
his  valet,  his  jester,  and  his  hard-drinker  across 
the  country  to  Bitem.  The  cause  of  this  detention, 
which  to  me  was  of  as  little  consequence  as  it  may 
be  to  the  reader,  was  important  enough  to  my  com- 


THE  HEART  OE  MID-LOTIIIAN. 


19 


panions  to  reconcile  them  to  the  delay.  Like  eagles, 
they  smelled  the  battle  afar  off,  ordered  a magnum 
of  claret  and  beds  at  the  Wallace,  and  entered  at 
full  career  into  the  Bubbleburgh  and  Bitem  politics, 
with  all  the  probable  “ petitions  and  complaints  ” to 
which  they  were  likely  to  give  rise. 

In  the  midst  of  an  anxious,  animated,  and,  to  me, 
most  unintelligible  discussion,  concerning  the  pro- 
vosts, bailies,  deacons,  sets  of  boroughs,  leets,  town- 
clerks,  burgesses  resident  and  non-resident,  all  of  a 
sudden  the  lawyer  recollected  himself.  “ Poor 
Dunover,  we  must  not  forget  him ; ” and  the  land- 
lord was  dispatched  in  quest  of  the  pauvre  honteux , 
with  an  earnestly  civil  invitation  to  him  for  the  rest 
of  the  evening.  I could  not  help  asking  the  young 
gentlemen  if  they  knew  the  history  of  this  poor 
man ; and  the  counsellor  applied  himself  to  his 
pocket  to  recover  the  memorial  or  brief  from  which 


“He  has  been  a candidate  for  our  remedium 
miserabile ,"  said  Mr.  Hardie,  “ commonly  called  a 
cessio  bonorum . As  there  are  divines  who  have 
doubted  the  eternity  of  future  punishments,  so  the 
Scotch  lawyers  seem  to  have  thought  that  the  crime 
of  poverty  might  be  atoned  for  by  something  short 
of  perpetual  imprisonment.  After  a month's  con- 
finement, you  must  know,  a pnsone^^ 
entitled,  on  a sufficient  statement  to  our  Supreme 
Court,  setting  forth  the  amount  of  his  funds,  and  the 
nature  of  his  misfortunes,  and  surrendering  all  his 
effects  to  his  creditors,  to  claim  to  be  discharged 
jro: jXLpnson.” 

“ I had  heard,"  I replied,  “ of  such  a humane 
regulation." 

“Yes,"  said  Halkit,  “and  the  beauty  of  it  is, 


he  had  stated  his  cause. 


20 


TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 


as  the  foreign  fellow  said,  you  may  get  the  cessio 
when  the  bonorums  are  all  spent  — But  what,  are 
you  puzzling  in  your  pockets  to  seek  your  only 
memorial  among  old  play-bills,  letters  requesting 
a meeting  of  the  Faculty,  rules  of  the  Speculative 
Society,  syllabus’  of  lectures  — all  the  miscellaneous 
contents  of  a young  advocate’s  pocket,  which  con- 
tains everything  but  briefs  and  bank  notes  ? Can 
you  not  state  a case  of  cessio  without  your  memo- 
rial ? Why  it  is  done  every  Saturday.  The  events 
follow  each  other  as  regularly  as  clock-work,  and 
one  form  of  condescendence  might  suit  every  one 
of  them.” 

“ This  is  very  unlike  the  variety  of  distress  which 
this  gentleman  stated  to  fall  under  the  considera- 
tion of  your  judges,”  said  I. 

“ True,”  replied  Halkit  ; “ but  Hardie  spoke  of 
criminal  jurisprudence,  and  this  business  is  purely 
civil.  I could  plead  a cessio  myself,  without  the 
inspiring  honours  of  a gown  and  three-tailed  peri- 
wig — Listen.  — My  client  was  bred  a journeyman 
weaver  — made  some  little  money  — took  a farm  — 
(for  conducting  a farm,  like  driving  a gig,  comes  by 
nature)  — late  severe  times  — induced  to  sign  bills 
with  a friend,  for  which  he  received  no  value  — 
landlord  sequestrates  — creditors  accept  a composi- 
tion — pursuer  sets  up  a public-house  — fails  a sec- 
ond time  — is  incarcerated  for  a debt  of  ten  pounds, 
seven  shillings  and  sixpence  — his  debts  amount  to 
blank  — his  losses  to  blank  — his  funds  to  blank  — 
leaving  a balance  of  blank  in  his  favour.  There  is 
no  opposition ; your  lordships  will  please  grant 
commission  to  take  his  oath.” 

Hardie  now  renounced  this  ineffectual  search,  in 
which  there  was  perhaps  a little  affectation,  and 


THE  HEART  OE  MID-LOTH  IAN . 


21 


told  us  the  tale  of  poor  Dunover’s  distresses,  with 
a tone  in  which  a degree  of  feeling,  which  he 
seemed  ashamed  of  as  unprofessional,  mingled  with 
his  attempts  at  wit,  and  did  him  more  honour.  It 
was  one  of  those  tales  which  seem  to  argue  a sort  of 


informed,  industrious,  and 

and  bashful  man,  had  in  vain  essayed  all  the  usual 
means  by  which  others  acquire  independence,  yet 
had  never  succeeded  beyond  the  attainment  of  bare 
subsistence.  During  a brief  gleam  of  hope,  rather 
than  of  actual  prosperity,  he  had  added  a wife  and 
family  to  his  cares,  but  the  dawn  was  speedily  over- 
cast. Every  thing  retrograded  with  him  towards  the 
verge  of  the  miry  Slough  of  Despond,  which  yawns 
for  insolvent  debtors  ; and  after  catching  at  each 
twig,  and  experiencing  the  protracted  agony  of  feel- 
ing them  one  by  one  elude  his  grasp,  he  actually 
sunk  into  the  miry  pit  whence  he  had  been  extri- 
cated by  the  professional  exertions  of  Hardie^} 
“And,  I suppose,  now  you  have  dragged  «this 
poor  devil  ashore,  you  will  leave  him  half  naked  on 
the  beach  to  provide  for  himself  ? ” said  Halkit. 
“ Hark  ye,  — ” and  he  whispered  something  in  his 
ear,  of  which  the  penetrating  and  insinuating  words, 
“ Interest  with  my  lord,”  alone  reached  mine. 

“ It  is  pessimi  exempli”  said  Hardie,  laughing, 
“ to  provide  for  a ruined  client ; but  I was  think- 
ing of  what  you  mention,  provided  it  can  be  man- 
aged — But  hush  ! here  he  comes.” 

The  recent  relation  of  the  poor  man’s  misfor- 
tunes had  given  him,  I was  pleased  to  observe,  a 
claim  to  the  attention  and  respect  of  the  young  men. 
who  treated  him  with  great  civility,  and  gradually 
engaged  him  in  a conversation,  which,  much  to  my 


ill-luck  or  fatality  attached 


22 


TALES  OE  MY  LANDLORD. 


satisfaction,  again  turned  upon  the  Causes  Celebres 
of  Scotland  (6).  Emboldened  by  the  kindness  with 
which  he  was  treated,  Mr.  Dunover  began  to  con- 
tribute his  share  to  the  amusement  of  the  evening. 
Jails,  like  other  places,  have  their  ancient  tradi- 
tions, known  only  to  the  inhabitants,  and  handed 
down  from  one  set  of  the  melancholy  lodgers  to  the 
next  who  occupy  their  cells.  Some  of  these,  which 
Dunover  mentioned,  were  interesting,  and  served 
to  illustrate  the  narratives  of  remarkable  trials, 
which  Hardie  had  at  his  finger  ends,  and  which  his 
companinrt  was  also  well  skilled  in.  This  sort  of 
conversation  passed  away  the  evening  till  the  early 
hour  when  Mr.  Dunover  chose  to  retire  to  rest,  and 
I also  retreated  to  take  down  memorandums  of 
what  I had  learned,  in  order  to  add  another  narra- 
tive to  those  which  it  had  been  my  chief  amuse- 
ment to  collect,  and  to  write  out  in  detail.  The 
two  young  men  ordered  a broiled  bone,  Madeira 
negus,  and  a pack  of  cards,  and  commenced  a game 
at  picquet. 

Next  morning  the  travellers  left  Gandercleugh. 
I afterwards  learned  from  the  papers  that  both 
have,  been  since  engaged  in  the  great  political  cause 
of  jpubbleburgh  and  Bitem,  a summary  case,  and 
entitled  to  particular  dispatch ; but  which,  it  is 
thought,  nevertheless,  may  outlast  the  duration  of 
the  parliament  to  which  the  contest  refers.  Mr. 
Halkit,  as  the  newspapers  informed  me,  acts  as 
agent  or  solicitor ; and  Mr.  Hardie  opened  for  Sir 
Peter  Plyem  with  singular  ability/ and  to  such  good 
purpose,  that  I understand  he  has  since  had  fewer 
play-bills  and  more  briefs  in  his  pocket.  And  both 
the  young  gentlemen  deserve  their  good  fortune  ; 
for  I learned  from  Dunover,  who  called  on  me  some 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN.  23 

weeks  afterwards,  and  communicated  the  intelli- 
gence with  tears  in  his  eyes,  that  their  interest  had 
availed  to  obtain  him  a small  office  for  the  decent 
maintenance  of  his  family ; and  that,  after  a train 
of  constant  and  uninterrupted  misfortune,  he  could 
trace  a dawn  of  prosperity  to  his  having  the  good 
fortune  to  be  flung  from  the  top  of  a mail-coach  into 
the  river  Gander,  in  company  with  an  advocate  and 
a writer  to  the  signet  The  reader  will  not  per- 
haps deem  himself  equally  obliged  to  the  accident, 
since  it  brings  upon  him  the  following  narrative, 
founded  upon  the  conversation  of  the  evening. 


CHAPTER  II. 


Whoe’er  ’s  been  at  Paris  must  needs  know  the  Greve, 

The  fatal  retreat  of  the  unfortunate  brave, 

Where  honour  and  justice  most  oddly  contribute, 

To  ease  heroes’  pains  by  an  halter  and  gibbet. 

There  death  breaks  the  shackles  which  force  had  put  on, 

And  the  hangman  completes  what  the  judge  but  began ; 

There  the  squire  of  the  poet,  and  knight  of  the  post, 

Find  their  pains  no  more  baulk’d,  and  their  hopes  no  more 
cross’d. 

Prior. 

In  former  times,  England  hod  Tipx-Tybnrn.  .to 
which  the  devoted  victims  of  justice  were  conducted 
in  solemn  procession  up  what  is  now  called  Ox- 
ford-Eoad.  In  Edinbuigh.  a large  open  street,  or 
rather  oblong  square,  surrounded  by  high  houses, 
X called  the  Grassmarket,  was  used  for  the  same 
melancholy  purpose.  It  was  not  ill  chosen  for  such 
a scene,  being  of  considerable  extent,  and  therefore 
fit  to  accommodate  a great  number  of  spectators, 
such  as  are  usually  assembled  by  this  melancholy 
spectacle.  On  the  other  hand,  few  of  the  houses 
which  surround  it  were,  even  in  early  times,  in- 
habited by  persons  of  fashion ; so  that  those  likely 
to  be  offended  or  over  deeply  affected  by  such  un- 
pleasant exhibitions  were  not  in  the  way  of  having 
their  quiet  disturbed  by  them.  The  houses  in  the 
Grassmarket  are,  generally  speaking,  of  a mean 
description  ; yet  the  place  is  not  without  some  fea- 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN. 


25 


tures  of  grandeur,  being  overhung  by  the  southern 
side  of  the  huge  rock  on  which  the  castle  stands, 
and  by  the  moss-grown  battlements  and  turreted 
walls  of  that  ancient  fortress. 

It  was  the  custom,  until  within  these  thirty  years, 
or  thereabouts,  to  use  this  esplanade  for  the  scene 
of  public  executions.  The  fatal  day  was  announced 
to  the  public,  by  the  appearance  of  a huge  black 
gallows-tree  towards  the  eastern  end  of  the  Grass- 
market.  This  ill-omened  apparition  was  of  great 
height,  with  a scaffold  surrounding  it,  and  a double 
ladder  placed  against  it,  for  the  ascent  of  the  un- 
happy criminal  and  the  executioner.  As  this  ap- 
paratus was  always  arranged  before  dawn,  it  seemed 
as  if  the  gallows  had  grown  out  of  the  earth  in  the 
course  of  one  night,  like  the  production  of  some  foul 
demon  ; and  I well  remember  the  fright  with  which 
the  school-boys,  when  I was  one  of  their  number, 
used  to  regard  these  ominous  signs  of  deadly  pre- 
paration. On  the  night  after  the  execution  the  gal- 
lows again  disappeared,  and  was  conveyed  in  silence 
and  darkness  to  the  place  where  it  was  usually  de- 
posited, which  was  one  of  the  vaults  under  the 
Parliament-house,  or  courts  of  justice.  This  mode 
of  execution  is  now  exchanged  for  one  similar  to 
that  in  front  of  Newgate,  — \yith  what  beneficial 
effect  is  uncertain.  The  mental  sufferings  of  the 
convict  are  indeed  shortened.  He  no  longer  stalks 
between  the  attendant  clergymen,  dressed  in  his 
grave-clothes,  through  a considerable  part  of  the 
city,  looking  like  a moving  and  walking  corpse, 
while  yet  an  inhabitant  of  this  world ; but,  as  the 
ultimate  purpose  of  punishment  has  in  view  the 
prevention  of  crimes,  it  may  at  least  be  doubted, 
whether,  in  abridging  the  melancholy  ceremony,  we 


26 


TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 


have  not  in  part  diminished  that  appalling  effect 
upon  the  spectators  which  is  the  useful  end  of  all 
such  inflictions,  and  in  consideration  of  which  alone, 
unless  in  very  particular  cases,  capital  sentences  can 
be  altogether  justified. 

On  the  7th  day  oi-September,  17^6^  these  ominous 
preparations  for  execution  were  descried  in  the 
place  we  have  described,  and  at  an  early  hour  the 
space  around  began  to  be  occupied  by  several  groups, 
who  gazed  on  the  scaffold  and  gibbet  with  a stern 
and  vindictive  show  of  satisfaction  very  seldom  testi- 
fied by  the  populace,  whose  good-nature,  in  most 
cases,  forgets  the  crime  of  the  condemned  person, 
and  dwells  only  on  his  misery.  But  the  act  of 
which  the  expected  culprit  had  been  convicted  was 
of  a description  calculated  nearly  and  closely  to 
awaken  and  irritate  the  resentful  feelings  of  the 
multitude.  The  tale  is  well  known;  yet  it  is  ne- 
cessary to  recapitulate  its  leading  circumstances,  for 
the  better  understanding  what  is  to  follow  ; and  the 
narrative  may  prove  long,  but  I trust  not  uninter- 
esting, even  to  those  who  have  heard  its  general 
issue.  At  any  rate,  some  detail  is  necessary,  in  order 
to  render  intelligible  the  subsequent  events  of  our 
narrative. 

Contraband  trade,  though  it  strikes  at  the  root  of 
legitimate  government,  by  encroaching  on  its  reve- 
nues, — though  it  injures  the  fair  trader,  and  de- 
bauches the  minds  of  those  engaged  in  it,  — is  not 
usually  looked  upon,  either  by  the  vulgar  or  by  their 
betters,  in  a very  heinous  point  of  view.  On  the 
contrary,  in  those  counties  where  it  prevails,  the 
cleverest,  boldest,  and  most  intelligent  of  the  peas- 
antry, are  uniformly  engaged  in  illicit  transactions, 
and  very  often  with  the  sanction  of  the  farmers  and 


THE  HEART  OE  MID-LOTHIAN. 


27 


inferior  gentry.  Smuggling  was  almost  universal 
in  Scotland  in  the  reigns  of  George  I.  and  II. ; for 
the  people,  unaccustomed  to  imposts,  and  regarding 
them  as  an  unjust  aggression  upon  their  ancient 
liberties,  made  no  scruple  to  elude  them  whenever 
it  was  possible  to  do  so. 

The  county  of  Fife,  bounded  by  two  friths  on  the 
south  and  north,  and  by  the  sea  on  the  east,  and 
having  a number  of  small  seaports,  was  long  famed 
for  maintaining  successfully  a contraband  trade ; 
and,  as  there  were  many  seafaring  men  residing 
there,  who  had  been  pirates  and  buccaneers  in  their 
youth,  there  were  not  wanting  a sufficient  number 
of  daring  men  to  carry  it  on.  Among  these,  a fel- 
low, called  originally  a baker  in 

the  village  of  Pathhead,  was  particularly  obnoxious 
to  the  revenue  officers.  He  was  possessed  of  great 
personal  strength,  courage,  and  cunning,  — was  per- 
fectly acquainted  with  the  coast,  and  capable  of  con- 
ducting the  most  desperate  enterprises.  On  several 
occasions  he  succeeded  in  baffling  the  pursuit  and 
researches  of  the  king’s  officers ; but  he  became  so 
much  the  object  of  their  suspicious  and  watchful 
attention,  that  at  length  he  was  totally  ruined  by 
repeated  seizures.  The  man  became  desperate.  He 
considered  himself  as  robbed  and  plundered;  and 
took  it  into  his  head,  that  he  had  a right  to  make 
reprisals,  as  he  could  find  opportunity.  Where  the 
heart  is  prepared  for  evil,  opportunity  is  seldom  long 
wanting.  This  Wilson  learned,  that  thd  Collector  of 
the  Customs  at  Kirkaldy  had  come  to  Pittenweem, 
in  the  course  of  his  official  round  of  duty,  with  a 
considerable  sum  of  public  money  in  his  custody. 
As  the  amount  was  greatly  within  the  value  of  the 
goods  which  had  been  seized  from  him,  Wilson  felt 


TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD, 


no  scruple  of  conscience  in  resolving  to  reimburse 
himself  for  his  losses,  at  the  expense  of  the  Collector 
and  the  revenue.  He  associated  with  himself  one 
Robertson,  and  ^o^other.idle^ung  men,  (c)  whom, 
having  been  concerned  in  the  same  illicit  trade,  he 
persuaded  to  view  the  transaction  in  the  same  justi- 
fiable light  in  which  he  himself  considered  it.  They 
watched  the  motions  of  the  Collector ; they  broke 
forcibly  into  the  house  where  he  lodged,  — Wilson, 
with  two  of  his  associates,  entering  the  Collector’s 
apartment,  while  Robertson,  the  fourth,  kept  watch 
at  the  door  with  a drawn  cutlass  in  his  hand.  The 
officer  of  the  customs,  conceiving  his  life  in  danger, 
escaped  out  of  his  bedroom  window,  and  fled  in  his 
shirt,  so  that  the  plunderers,  with  much  ease,  pos- 
sessed themselves  of  about  two  hundred  pounds  of 
public  money.  This  robbery  was  committed  in  a 
very  audacious  manner,  for  several  persons  were 
passing  in  the  street  at  the  time.  But  Robertson, 
representing  the  noise  they  heard  as  a dispute  or 
fray  betwixt  the  Collector  and  the  people  of  the 
house,  the  worthy  citizens  of  Pittenweem  felt  them- 
selves no  way  called  on  to  interfere  in  behalf  of 
the  obnoxious  revenue  officer ; so,  satisfying  them- 
selves with  this  very  superficial  account  of  the  mat- 
ter, like  the  Levite  in  the  parable,  they  passed  on  the 
opposite  side  of  the  way.  An  alarm  was  at  length 
given,  military  were  called  in,  the  depredators  were 
pursued,  the  booty  recovered,  and  Wilson  and 
Robertson  tried  and  condemned  to  death,  chiefly  on 
the  evidence  of  an  accomplice. 

Many  thought,  that,  in  consideration  of  the  men’s 
erroneous  opinion  of  the  nature  of  the  action  they 
had  committed,  justice  might  have  been  satisfied 
with  a less  forfeiture  than  that  of  two  lives.  On 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN. 


29 


the  other  hand,  from  the  audacity  of  the  fact,  a 
severe  example  was  judged  necessary  ; and  such  was 
the  opinion  of  the  government.  When  it  became 
apparent  that  the  sentence  of  death  was  to  be  exe- 
cuted, files,  and  other  implements  necessary  for  their 
escape,  were  transmitted  secretly  to  the  culprits 
by  a friend  from  without.  By  these  means  they 
sawed  a bar  out  of  one  of  the  prison-windows,  and 
might  have  made  their  escape,  but  for  the  obsti- 
nacy of  Wilson,  who,  as  he  was  daringly  resolute, 
was  doggedly  pertinacious  of  his  opinion.  His  com- 
rade, Robertson,  a young  and  slender  man,  proposed 
to  make  the  experiment  of  passing  the  foremost 
through  the  gap  they  had  made,  and  enlarging  it 
from  the  outside,  if  necessary,  to  allow  Wilson  free 
passage.  Wilson,  however,  insisted  on  making  the 
first  experiment,  and  being  a robust  and  lusty  man, 
he  not  only  found  it  impossible  to  get  through 
betwixt  the  bars,  but,  by  his  struggles,  he  jammed 
himself  so  fast,  that  he  was  unable  to  draw  his  body 
back  again.  In  these  circumstances  discovery  be- 
came unavoidable,  and  sufficient  precautions  were 
taken  by  the  jailor  to  prevent  any  repetition  of  the 
same  attempt.  Robertson  uttered  not  a word  of 
reflection  on  his  companion  for  the  consequences 
of  his  obstinacy ; but  it  appeared  from  the  sequel, 
that  Wilson’s  mind  was  deeply  impressed  with  the 
recollection,  that,  but  for  him,  his  comrade,  over 
whose  mind  he  exercised  considerable  influence, 
would  not  have  engaged  in  the  criminal  enterprise 
which  had  terminated  thus  fatally;  and  that  now 
he  had  become  his  destroyer  a second  time,  since, 
but  for  his  obstinacy,  Robertson  xxdghi  have  effected 
his^-escape.  Minds  like  Wilson’s,  even  when  exer- 
cised in  evil  practices,  sometimes  retain  the  power 


30  TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 

& 

of  thinking  and  resolving  with  enthusiastic  gener- 
osity. /His  whole  thoughts  were  now  bent  on  the 
possibility  of  saving  Robertson’s  life, ) without  the 
least  respect  to  his  own.  The  resolution  which  he 
adopted,  and  the  manner  in  which  he  carried  it  into 
effect,  were  striking  and  unusual. 

Adjacent  to  the  tolbooth  or  city  jail  of  Edin- 
burgh, is  one  of  three  churches  into  which  the 
cathedral  of  St.  Giles  is  now  divided,  called,  from  its 
vicinity,  the  Tolbooth  Church.  It  was  the  custom, 
that  criminals  under  sentence  of  death  were  brought 
to  this  church,  with  a sufficient  guard,  to  hear  and 
join  in  public  worship  on  the  Sabbath  before  exe- 
cution. It  was  supposed  that  the  hearts  of  these  un- 
fortunate persons,  however  hardened  before  against 
feelings  of  devotion,  could  not  but  be  accessible  to 
them  upon  uniting  their  thoughts  and  voices,  for 
the  last  time,  along  with  their  fellow-mortals,  in 
addressing  their  Creator.  And  to  the  rest  of  the 
congregation,  it  was  thought  it  could  not  but  be 
impressive  and  affecting,  to  find  their  devotions 
mingling  with  those,  who,  sent  by  the  doom  of  an 
earthly  tribunal  to  appear  where  the  whole  earth 
is  judged,  might  be  considered  as  beings  trembling 
on  the  verge  of  eternity.  The  practice,  however 
edifying,  has  been  discontinued,  in  consequence  of 
the  incident  we  are  about  to  detail. 

The  clergyman,  whose  duty  it  was  to  officiate  in 
the  Tolbooth  Church,  had  concluded  an  affecting 
discourse,  part  of  which  was  particularly  directed 
to  the  unfortunate  men,  Wilson  and  Robertson, 
who  were  in  the  pew  set  apart  for  the  persons  in 
their  unhappy  situation,  each  secured  betwixt  two 
soldiers  of  the  city  guard.  The  clergyman  had 
reminded  them,  that  the  next  congregation  they 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN. 


3i 


must  join  would  be  that  of  the  just,  or  of  the  un- 
just : that  the  psalms  they  now  heard  must  be  ex- 
changed, in  the  space  of  two  brief  days,  for  eternal 
hallelujahs,  or  eternal  lamentations ; and  that  this 
fearful  alternative  must  depend  upon  the  state  to 
which  they  might  be  able  to  bring  their  minds  be- 
fore the  moment  of  awful  preparation:  that  they 
should  not  despair  on  account  of  the  suddenness  of 
the  summons,  but  rather  to  feel  this  comfort  in  their 
misery,  that,  though  all  who  now  lifted  the  voice, 
or  bent  the  knee  in  conjunction  with  them,  lay  un- 
der the  same  sentence  of  certain  death,  they  only 
had  the  advantage  of  knowing  the  precise  moment 
at  which  it  should  be  executed  upon  them.  “ There- 
fore,” urged  the  good  man,  his  voice  trembling  with 
emotion,  “ redeem  the  time,  my  unhappy  brethren, 
which  is  yet  left;  and  remember,  that,  with  the 
grace  of  Him  to  whom  space  and  time  are  but  as 
nothing,  salvation  may  yet  be  assured,  even  in  the 
pittance  of  delay  which  the  laws  of  your  country 
afford  you.” 

Robertson  was  observed  to  weep  at  these  words; 
but  Wilson  seemed  as  one  whose  brain  had  not 
entirely  received  their  meaning,  or  whose  thoughts 
were  deeply  impressed  with  some  different  sub- 
ject ; — an  expression  so  natural  to  a person  in 
his  situation,  that  it  excited  neither  suspicion  nor 
surprise. 

The  benediction  was  pronounced  as  usual,  and 
the  congregation  was  dismissed,  many  lingering  to 
indulge  their  curiosity  with  a more  fixed  look  at 
the  two  criminals,  who  now,  as  well  as  their  guards, 
rose  up,  as  if  to  depart  when  the  crowd  should  per- 
mit them.  A murmur  of  compassion  was  heard  to 
pervade  the  spectators,  the  more  general,  perhaps, 


32 


TALES  OE  MY  LANDLORD. 


on  account  of  the  alleviating  circumstances  of  the 
case ; when  all  at  once/  Wilson,  who,  as  we  have 
already  noticed,  was  a very  strong  man,  seized  two 
of  the  soldiers,  one  with  each  hand,  and  calling  at 
the  same  time  to  his  companion,  “Run,  Geordie, 
run ! ” threw  himself  on  a third,  and  fastened  his 
teeth  on  the  collar  of  his  coat.  Robertson  stood 
for  a second  as  if  thunderstruck,  and  unable  to 
avail  himself  of  the  opportunity  of  escape ; but  the 
cry  of  “ Run,  run  ! ” being  echoed  from  many  around, 
whose  feelings  surprised  them  into  a very  natural 
interest  in  his  behalf,  he  shook  off  the  grasp  of  the 
remaining  soldier,  threw  himself  over  the  pew, 
mixed  with  the  dispersing  congregation,  none  of 
whom  felt  inclined  to  stop  a poor  wretch  taking  this 
last  chance  for  his  life,  gained  the  door  of  the  church, 
and  was  lost  to  all  pursuit?) 

The  generous  intrepidity  which  Wilson  had  dis- 
played on  this  occasion  augmented  the  feeling  of 
compassion  which  attended  his  fate.  The  public, 
where  their  own  prejudices  are  not  concerned,  are 
easily  engaged  on  the  side  of  disinterestedness  and 
humanity,  admired  Wilson’s  behaviour,  and  rejoiced 
in  Robertson’s  escape.  This  general  feeling  was 
so  great,  that  it  excited  a vague  report  that  Wilson 
would  be  rescued  at  the  place  of  execution,  either 
by  the  mob  or  by  some  of  his  old  associates,  or  by 
some  second  extraordinary  and  unexpected  exertion 
of  strength  and  courage  on  his  own  part.  The 
magistrates  thought  it  their  duty  to  provide  against 
the  possibility  of  disturbance.  They  ordered  out, 
for  protection  of  the  execution  of  the  sentence, SMie 
greater  part  of  their  own  City  Guard,  under  the 
command  of  Captain  Porteous?>a  man  whose  name 
became  too  memorable  from -'the  melancholy  cir- 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN.  33 

cumstances  of  the  day,  and  subsequent  events.  It 
may  be  necessary  to  say  a word  about  this  person, 
and  the  corps  which  he  commanded.  But  the  sub- 
ject is  of  importance  sufficient  to  deserve  another 
chapter. 

<L  o-\' 


i 


CHAPTER  III. 

And  thou,  great  god  of  aqua-vitae ! 

Wha  sways  the  empire  of  this  city, 

(When  fou  we  ’re  sometimes  capernoity,) 

Be  thou  prepared, 

To  save  us  frae  that  black  banditti, 

The  City  Guard ! 

Ferguson’s  Daft  Days . 

Captain  John  Porteous,  a name  memorable  in 
"Hie  traditions  of  Edinburgh,  as  well  as  in  the  rec- 
ords of  criminal  jurisprudence,  was  the  son  of  a 
citizen  of  Edinburgh,  who  endeavoured  to  breed 
him  up  to  his  own  mechanical  trade  of  a tailor. 
The  youth,  however,  had  a wild  and  irreclaimable 
propensity  to  dissipation,  which  finally  sent  him  to 
serve  in  the  corps  long  maintained  in  the  service  of 
the  States  of  Holland,  and  called  the  Scotch  Hutch. 
Here  he  learned  military  discipline ; and,  returning 
afterwards,  in  the  course  of  an  idle  and  wandering 
life,  to  his  native  city,  his  services  were  required  by 
the  magistrates  of  Ed^burgh  in  the  disturbed  year 
1715,  for  disciplining^  in  which  he 

shortly  afterwards  received  a captain’s  commission. 
It  was  only  by  his  military  skill,  and  an  alert  and 
resolute  character  as  an  officer  of  police,  that  he 
merited  this  promotion,  for  he  is  said  to  have  been 
a man  of  profligate  habits,  an  unnatural  son,  and  a 
brutal  husband.  He  was,  however,  useful  in  his 
station,  and  his  harsh  and  fierce  habits  rendered 


THE  HEAHT  OF  MID-LOTHIAN. 


35 


him  formidable  to  rioters  or  disturbers  of  the  pub- 
lic peace. 

The  corps  in  which  he  held  his  command  is,  or 
perhaps  we  should  rather  say  was , a body  of  about 
one  hundred  and  twenty  soldiers,  divided  into  three 
companies,  and  regularly  armed,  clothed,  and  em- 
bodied. They  were  chiefly  veterans  who  enlisted 
in  this  corps,  having  the  benefit  of  working  at  their 
trades  when  they  were  off  duty.  These  men  had 
the  charge  of  preserving  public  order,  repressing 
riots  and  street  robberies,  acting,  in  short,  as  an 
armed  police,  and  attending  on  all  public  occasions 
where  confusion  or  popular  disturbance  might  be 
expected.1  Poor  Ferguson,  whose  irregularities 
sometimes  led  him  into  unpleasant  rencontres  with 
these  military  conservators  of  public  order,  and  who 
mentions  them  so  often  that  he  may  be  termed 
their  poet  laureate,  thus  admonishes  his  readers, 
warned  doubtless  by  his  own  experience: 

44  Gude  folk,  as  ye  come  frae  the  fair. 

Bide  yont  frae  this  black  squad  ; 

There’s  nae  sic  savages  elsewhere 
Allow’d  to  wear  cockad.” 

In  fact,  the  soldiers  of  the  City  Guard,  being,  as 
we  have  said,  in  general  discharged  veterans,  who 
had  strength  enough  remaining  for  this  municipal 
duty,  and  being,  moreover,  for  the  greater  part, 
Highlanders,  were  neither  by  birth,  education,  or 
former  habits,  trained  to  endure  with  much  pa- 
tience the  insults  of  the  rabble,  or  the  provoking 

1 The  Lord  Provost  was  ex-officio  commander  and  colonel  of 
the  corps,  which  might  be  increased  to  three  hundred  men  when 
the  times  required  it.  No  other  drum  but  theirs  was  allowed  to 
sound  on  the  High  Street  between  the  Luckenbooths  and  the 
Netherbow. 


36 


TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 


petulance  of  truant  schoolboys,  and  idle  debauchees 
of  all  descriptions,  with  whom  their  occupation 
brought  them  into  contact.  On  the  contrary,  the 
tempers  of  the  poor  old  fellows  were  soured  by  the 
indignities  with  which  the  mob  distinguished  them 
on  many  occasions,  and  frequently  might  have  re- 
quired the  soothing  strains  of  the  poet  we  have 
just  quoted  — 

“ O soldiers ! for  your  ain  dear  sakes, 

For  Scotland’s  love,  the  Land  o’  Cakes, 

Gie  not  her  bairns  sic  deadly  paiks, 

Nor  be  sae  rude, 

Wi’  firelock  or  Lochaber-axe, 

As  spill  their  bluid  ! 39 

On  all  occasions  when  a holyday  licensed  some 
riot  and  irregularity,  a skirmish  with  these  veterans 
was  a favourite  recreation  with  the  rabble  of  Edin- 
burgh. These  pages  may  perhaps  see  the  light 
when  many  have  in  fresh  recollection  such  onsets 
as  we  allude  to.  But  the  venerable  corps,  with 
whom  the  contention  was  held,  may  now  be  con- 
sidered as  totally  extinct.  Of  late  the  gradual 
diminution  of  these  civic  soldiers,  reminds  one  of 
the  abatement  of  King  Lear's  hundred  knights. 
The  edicts  of  each  succeeding  set  of  magistrates 
have,  like  those  of  Goneril  and  Began,  dimin- 
ished this  venerable  band  with  the  similar  ques- 
tion, “ What  need  we  five-and-twenty  ? — ten  ? — 
or  five  ? ” And  it  is  now  nearly  come  to,  “ What 
need  one  ?”  A spectre  may  indeed  here  and  there 
still  be  seen,  of  an  old  grey-headed  and  grey- 
bearded  Highlander,  with  war-worn  features,  but 
bent  double  by  age;  dressed  in  an  old-fashioned 
cocked  hat,  bound  with  white  tape  instead  of  sil- 
ver lace ; and  in  coat,  waistcoat,  and  breeches  of  a 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN. 


37 


muddy-coloured  red,  bearing  in  his  withered  hand 
an  ancient  weapon,  called  a Lochaber-axe  ; a long 
pole,  namely,  with  an  axe  at  the  extremity,  and  a 
hook  at  the  back  of  the  hatchet.1  Such  a phantom 
of  former  days  still  creeps,  I have  been  informed, 
round  the  statue  of  Charles  the  Second,  in  the 
Parliament  Square,  as  if  the  image  of  a Stewart 
were  the  last  refuge  for  any  memorial  of  our  an- 
cient manners  ; and  one  or  two  others  are  supposed 
to  glide  around  the  door  of  the  guard-house  as- 
signed to  them  in  the  Luckenbooths,  when  their 
ancient  refuge  in  the  High  Street  was  laid  low.2 
But  the  fate  of  manuscripts  bequeathed  to  friends 
and  executors  is  so  uncertain,  that  the  narrative 
containing  these  frail  memorials  of  the  old  Town- 
Guard  of  Edinburgh,  who,  with  their  grim  and 
valiant  corporal,  JohnJJLhu,  (the  fiercest-looking 
fellow  I ever  saw,)  were,  in  my  boyhood,  the  alter- 
nate terror  and  derision  of  the  petulant  brood  of 
the  High-school,  may,  perhaps,  only  come  to  light 
when  all  memory  of  the  institution  has  faded  away, 
and  then  serve  as  an  illustration  of  Kay’s  cari- 
catures, who  has  preserved  the  features  of  some 
of  their  heroes.  In  the  preceding  generation,  when 
there  was  a perpetual  alarm  for  the  plots  and  activ- 

1 This  hook  was  to  enable  the  bearer  of  the  Lochaber-axe  to 
scale  a gateway,  by  grappling  the  top  of  the  door,  and  swinging 
himself  up  by  the  staff  of  his  weapon. 

2 This  ancient  corps  is  now  entirely  disbanded.  Their  last 
march  to  do  duty  at  Hallowfair,  had  something  in  it  affecting. 
Their  drums  and  fifes  had  been  wont  on  better  days  to  play,  on 
this  joyous  occasion,  the  lively  tune  of 

“Jockey  to  the  fair/' 

but  on  this  final  occasion  the  afflicted  veterans  moved  slowly  to 
the  dirge  of 

“ The  last  time  I came  ower  the  muir.” 


38 


TALES  0 E MY  LANDLORD. 


ity  of  the  Jacobites,  some  pains  were  taken  by  the 
magistrates  of  Edinburgh  to  keep  this  corps,  though 
composed  always  of  such  materials  as  we  have 
noticed,  in  a more  effective  state  than  was  after- 
wards judged  necessary,  when  their  most  danger- 
ous service  was  to  skirmish  with  the  rabble  on 
the  king’s  birthday.  They  were,  therefore,  more 
the  objects  of  hatred,  and  less  that  of  scorn,  than 
they  were  afterwards  accounted. 

To  Captain  John  Porteous,  ( d ) the  honour  of  his 
command  and  of  his  corps  seems  to  have  been  a mat- 
ter of  high  interest  and  importance.  He  was  exceed- 
ingly incensed  against  Wilson  for  the  affront  which 
he  construed  him  to  have  put  upon  his  soldiers,  in 
the  effort  he  made  for  the  liberation  of  his  com- 
panion, and  expressed  himself  most  ardently  on  the 
subject.  He  was  no  less  indignant  at  the  report, 
that  there  was  an  intention  to  rescue  Wilson  him- 
self from  the  gallows,  and  uttered  many  threats  and 
imprecations  upon  that  subject,  which  were  after- 
wards remembered  to  his  disadvantage.  In  fact,  if 
a good  deal  of  .determination  and  promptitude  ren- 
dered Porteous,  in  one  respect,  fit  to  command  guards 
designed  to  suppress  popular  commotion,  he  seems, 
on  the  other,  to  have  been  disqualified  for  a charge 
so  delicate,  by  a hot  and  surly  temper,  always  too 
ready  to  come  to  blows  and  violence ; a character 
void  of  principle ; and  a disposition  to  regard  the 
rabble,  who  seldom  failed  to  regale  him  and  his 
soldiers  with  some  marks  of  their  displeasure,  as 
declared  enemies,  upon  whom  it  was  natural  and 
justifiable  that  he  should  seek  opportunities  of  ven- 
geance. Being,  however,  the  most  active  and  'faust- 
worthy  among  the  captains  of  the  City  Guard)  (« e ) 
he  was  the  person  to  whom  the  magistrates  o-efmded 


THE  HEART  OE  MID-LOTHIAN, 


39 


the  command  of  the  soldiers  appointed  to  keep  the 
peace  at  the  time  of  Wilson’s  execution.  He  was 
ordered  to  guard  the  gallows  and  scaffold,  with 
about  eighty  men,  all  the  disposable  force  that 
could  be  spared  for  that  duty. 

But  the  magistrates  took  farther  precautions, 
which  affected  Porteous’s  pride  very  deeply.  They 
(Requested  the  assistance  of  part  of  a regular  infan- 
try regiment,  not  to  attend  upon  the  execution,  but 
to  remain  drawn  up  on  the  principal  street  of  the  city, 
during  the  time  that  it  went  forward,  in  order  to  in- 
timidate the  multitude,  in  case  they  should  be  dis- 
posed to  be  unruly,  with  a display  of  force  which 
could  not  be  resisted  without  desperation)  It  may 
sound  ridiculous  in  our  ears,  considering  the  fallen 
state  of  this  ancient  civic  corps,  that  its  officer 
should  have  felt  punctiliously  jealous  of  its  hon- 
our. Yet  so  it  was.  Captain  Porteous  resented,  as 
an  indignity,  the  introducing  the  Welsh  Fusileers 
within  the  city,  and  drawing  them  up  in  the  street 
where  no  drums  but  his  own  were  allowed  to  be 
sounded,  without  the  special  command  or  permission 
of  the  magistrates,  ^.s  he  could  not  show  his  ill- 
humour  to  his  patrons  the  magistrates,  it  increased 
his  indignation  and  his  desire  to  be  ^revenged  on  the 
unfortunate  criminal  Wilson,  and  all  who  favoured 
himp  These  internal  emotions  of  jealousy  and  rage 
wrought  a change  on  the  man’s  mien  and  bearing, 
visible  to  all  who  saw  him  on  the  fatal  morning 
when  Wilson  was  appointed  to  suffer.  Perteous’s 
ordinary  appearance  was  rather  favourable.  He  was 
about  the  middle  size,  stout,  and  well  made,  having 
a military  air,  and  yet  rather  a gentle  and  mild 
countenance.  His  complexion  was  brown,  his  face 
somewhat  fretted  with  the  scars  of  the  small-pox^ 


40 


TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 


his  eyes  rather  languid  than  keen  or  fierce.  On  the 
present  occasion,  however,  it  seemed  to  those  who 
saw  him  as  if  he  were  agitated  by  some  evil  demon. 
His  step  was  irregular,  his  voice  hollow  and  broken, 
his  countenance  pale,  his  eyes  staring  and  wild,  his 
speech  imperfect  and  confused,  and  his  whole  ap- 
pearance so  disordered,  that  many  remarked  he 
seemed  to  be  fey , a Scottish  expression,  meaning 
the  state  of  those  who  are  driven  on  to  their  im- 
pending fate  by  the  strong  impulse  of  some  irre- 
sistible necessity. 

One  part  of  his  conduct  was  truly  diabolical,  if, 
indeed,  it  has  not  been  exaggerated  by  the  general 
prejudice  entertained  against  his  memory.  When 
Wilson,  the  unhappy  criminal,  was  delivered  to  him 
by  the  keeper  of  the  prison,  in  order  that  he  might 
be  conducted  to  the  place  of  execution,  Porteous,  not 
satisfied  with  the  usual  precautions  to  prevent  escape, 
ordered  him  to  be-  manacled.  This  might  be  justifi- 
able from  the  character  and  bodily  strength  of  the 
malefactor,  as  well  as  from  the  apprehensions  so 
generally  entertained  of  an  expected  rescue.  But 
the  har|(i cuffs  which  were  produced  being  found  too 
small  for  the  wrists  of  a man  so  big-boned  as  Wilson, 
Porteous  proceeded  with  his  own  hands,  and  by  great 
exertion  of  strength,  to  force  them  till  they  clasped 
together,  to  the  exquisite  torture  of  the  unhappy 
criminal  Wilson  remonstrated  against  such  bar- 
barous usage,  declaring  that  the  pain  distracted  his 
thoughts  from  the  subjects  of  meditation  proper  to 
his  unhappy  condition. 

“ It  signifies  little,”  replied  Captain  Porteous  ; 
s‘  your  pain  will  be  soon  at  an  end.” 

O' Your  cruelty  is  great,”  answered  the  sufferer. 
uYou  know  not  how  soon  you  yourself  may  have 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN. 


4i 


occasion  to  ask  the  mercy,  which  you  are  now  refus- 
ing to  a fellow-creature.  May  God  forgive  you  t )” 

These  words,  long  afterwards  quoted  and  remem- 
bered, were  all  that  passed  between  Porteous  and 
his  prisoner;  but  as  they  took  air,  and  became 
known  to  the  people,  they  greatly  increased  the 
popular  compassion  for  Wilson,  and  excited  a pro- 
portionate degree  of  indignation  against  Porteous  ; 
against  whom,  as  strict,  and  even  violent  in  the 
discharge  of  his  unpopular  office,  the  common  peo- 
ple had  some  real,  and  many  imaginary  causes  of 
complaint. 

When  the  painful  procession  was  completed,  and 
Wilson,  with  the  escort,  had  arrived  at  the  scaffold 
in  the  Grassmarket,  there  appeared  no  signs  of  that 
attempt  to  rescue  him  which  had  occasioned  such 
precautions.  The  multitude,  in  general,  looked  on 
with  deeper  interest  than  at  ordinary  executions ; 
and  there  might  be  seen,  on  the  countenances  of 
many,  a stern  and  indignant  expression,  like  that 
with  which  the  ancient  Cameronians  might  be  sup- 
posed to  witness  the  execution  of  their  brethren,  who 
glorified  the  Covenant  on  the  same  occasion,  and  at 
the  same  spot.  But  there  was  no  attempt  at  vio- 
lence. Wilson  himself  seemed  disposed  to  hasten 
over  the  space  that  divided  time  from  eternity.  The 
devotions  proper  and  usual  on  such  occasions  were 
no  sooner  finished  than  he  submitted  to  his  fate, 
and  the  sentence  of  the  law  was  fulfilled. 

He  had  been  suspended  on  the  gibbet  so  long  as 
to  be  totally  deprived  of  life,  when  at  once,  as  if  oc- 
casioned by  some  newly-received  impulse,  there  arose 
a tumult  among  the  multitude.  (Many  stones  were 
thrown  at  Porteous  and  his  guards^  some  mischief 
was  done ; and  the  mob  continued  to  press  forward 


42 


TALES  OE  MY  LANDLORD. 


with  whoops,  shrieks,  howls,  and  exclamations.  A 
young  fellow,  with  a sailor's  cap  slouched  over  his 
face,  sprung  on  the  scaffold,  and  cut  the  rope  by 
which  the  criminal  was  suspended.  Others  ap- 
proached to  carry  off  the  body,  either  to  secure  for 
it  a decent  grave,  or  to  try,  perhaps,  some  means  of 
resuscitation,  Captain  Porteous  was  wrought,  by 
this  appearance  of  insurrection  against  his  author- 
ity, into  a rage  so  headlong  as  made  him  forget,  that, 
the  sentence  having  been  fully  executed,  it  was  his 
duty  not  to  engage  in  hostilities  with  the  misguided 
multitude,  but  to  draw  off  his  men  as  fast  as  possible. 
He  sprung  from  the  scaffold,  snatched  a musket 
from  one  of  his  soldiers,  commanded  the  party  to 
give  fire,  and,  as  several  eye-witnesses  concurred  in 
swearing,  set  them  the  example,  by  discharging  his 
piece,  and  shooting  a man  dead  on  the  spot.  Several 
soldiers  obeyed  his  command  or  followed  his  exam- 
ple ; six  or  seven  persons  were  slain,  and  a great 
many  were  hurt  and  wounded. 

After  this  act  of  violence,  the  Captain  proceeded 
to  withdraw  his  men  towards  their  guard-house  in 
the  High  Street.  The  mob  were  not  so  much  in- 
timidated as  incensed  by  what  had  been  done. 
They  pursued  the  soldiers  with  execrations,  accom- 
panied by  volleys  of  stones.  As  they  pressed  on 
them,  the  rearmost  soldiers  turned,  and  again  fired 
with  fatal  aim  and  execution.  It  is  not  accurately 
known  whether  Porteous  commanded  this  second 
act  of  violence ; but  of  course  the  odium  of  the 
whole  transactions  of  the  fatal  day  attached  to  him, 
and  to  him  alone.  He  arrived  at  the  guard-house, 
dismissed  his  soldiers,  and  went  to  make  his  report 
to  the  magistrates  concerning  the  unfortunate  events 
of  the  day. 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTIITAN. 


43 


Apparently  by  this  time  Captain  Porteous  had 
begun  to  doubt  the  propriety  of  his  own  conduct, 
and  the  reception  he  met  with  from  the  magistrates 
was  such  as  to  make  him  still  more  anxious  to  gloss 
it  over.  He  denied  that  he  had  given  orders  to 
lire ; he  denied  he  had  fired  with  his  own  hand ; he 
even  produced  the  fusee  which  he  carried  as  an 
officer  for  examination ; it  was  found  still  loaded. 
Of  three  cartridges  which  he  was  seen  to  put  in  his 
pouch  that  morning,  two  were  still  there ; a white 
handkerchief  was  thrust  into  the  muzzle  of  the 
piece,  and  returned  unsoiled  or  blackened.  To  the 
defence  founded  on  these  circumstances  it  was  an- 
swered, that  Porteous  had  not  used  his  own  piece, 
but  had  been  seen  to  take  one  from  a soldier. 
Among  the  many  who  had  been  killed  and  wounded 
by  the  unhappy  fire,  there  were  several  of  better 
rank ; for  even  the  humanity  of  such  soldiers  as 
fired  over  the  heads  of  the  mere  rabble  around  the 
scaffold,  proved  in  some  instances  fatal  to  persons 
who  were  stationed  in  windows,  or  observed  the 
melancholy  scene  from  a distance.  The  voice  of 
public  indignation  was  loud  and  general;  and,  ere 
men’s  tempers  had  time  to  cool,  the  trial  of  Captain 
Porteous  took  place  before  the  High  Court  of  Jus- 
ticiary. After  a long  and  patient  hearing,  the  jury 
had  the  difficult  duty  of  balancing  the  positive  evi- 
dence of  many  persons,  and  those  of  respectability, 
who  deposed  positively  to  the  prisoner’s  command- 
ing his  soldiers  to  fire,  and  himself  firing  his  piece, 
of  which  some  swore  that  they  saw  the  smoke  and 
flash,  and  beheld  a man  drop  at  whom  it  was 
pointed,  with  the  negative  testimony  of  others, 
who,  though  well  stationed  for  seeing  what  had 
passed,  neither  heard  Porteous  give  orders  to  fire 


44 


TALES  OE  MY  LANDLORD. 


nor  saw  him  fire  himself,  but,  on  the  contrary, 
averred  that  the  first  shot  was  fired  by  a soldier 
who  stood  close  by  him.  A great  part  of  his  de- 
fence was  also  founded  on  the  turbulence  of  the 
mob,  which  witnesses,  according  to  their  feelings, 
their  predilections,  and  their  opportunities  of  ob- 
servation, represented  differently ; some  describing 
as  a formidable  riot,  what  others  represented  as  a 
trifling  disturbance,  such  as  always  used  to  take 
place  on  the  like  occasions,  when  the  executioner 
of  the  law,  and  the  men  commissioned  to  protect 
him  in  his  task,  were  generally  exposed  to  some 
indignities.  The  verdict  of  the  jury  sufficiently 
shows  how  the  evidence  preponderated  in  their 
minds.  It  declared  that  John  Porteous  fired  a 
gun  among  the  people  assembled  at  the  execution ; 
that  he  gave  orders  to  his  soldiers  to  fire,  by  which 
many  persons  were  killed  and  wounded;  but,  at 
the  same  time,  that  the  prisoner  and  his  guard  had 
been  wounded  and  Leaten,  by  stones  thrown  at  them 
by  the  multitude,  f Upon  this  verdict,  the  Lords  of 
Justiciary  passed  sentence  of  death  against  Captain 
John  Porteous,  adjudging  him,  in  the  common  form, 
to  be  hanged  on  a gibbet  at  the  common  place  of 
execution,  on  Wednesday,  8th  September,  1736,  and 
all  his  movable  property  to  be  forfeited  to  the  king’s 
use,  according  to  the  Scottish  law  in  cases  of  wilful 


CHAPTER  1Y. 


“The  hour’s  come,  but  not  the  man.”1 

Kelpie . 


On  the  day  when  the  unhappy  Porteous  was  ex- 
pected to  suffer  the  sentence  of  the  law,  the  place 
of  execution,  extensive  as  it  is,  was  crowded  al- 
most to  suffocation.  There  was  not  a window  in  all 
the  lofty  tenements  around  it,  or  in  the  steep  and 
crooked  street  called  the  Bow,  by  which  the  fatal 
procession  was  to  descend  from  the  High  Street, 
that  was  not  absolutely  filled  with  spectators.  The 
uncommon  height  and  antique  appearance  of  these 
houses,  some  of  which  were  formerly  the  property 
of  the  Knights  Templars,  and  the  Knights  of  St. 
J ohn,  and  still  exhibit  on  their  fronts  and  gables  the 
iron  cross  of  these  orders,  gave  additional  effect  to 
a scene  in  itself  so  striking.  The  area  of  the  Grass- 
market  resembled  a huge  dark  lake  or  sea  of  human 
heads,  in  the  centre  of  which  arose  the  fatal  tree, 
tall,  black,  and  ominous,  from  which  dangled  the 
deadly  halter.  Every  object  takes  interest  from  its 
uses  and  associations,  and  the  erect  beam  and  empty 

1 There  is  a tradition,  that  while  a little  stream  was  swollen  into 
a torrent  by  recent  showers,  the  discontented  voice  of  the  Water 
Spirit  was  heard  to  pronounce  these  words.  At  the  same  moment 
a man,  urged  on  by  his  fate,  or,  in  Scottish  language,  fey , arrived 
at  a gallop,  and  prepared  to  cross  the  water.  No  remonstrance 
from  the  bystanders  was  of  power  to  stop  him  — he  plunged  into 
the  stream,  and  perished. 


46 


TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 


noose,  things  so  simple  in  themselves,  became,  on 
such  an  occasion,  objects  of  terror  and  of  solemn 
interest. 

Amid  so  numerous  an  assembly  there  was  scarcely 
a word  spoken,  save  in  whispers.  The  thirst  of  ven- 
geance was  in  some  degree  allayed  by  its  supposed 
certainty;  and  even  the  populace,  with  deeper 
feeling  than  they  are  wont  to  entertain,  suppressed 
all  clamorous  exultation,  and  prepared  to  enjoy  the 
scene  of  retaliation  in  triumph,  silent  and  decent, 
though  stern  and  relentless.  It  seemed  as  if  the 
depth  of  their  hatred  to  the  unfortunate  criminal 
scorned  to  display  itself  in  anything  resembling  the 
more  noisy  current  of  their  ordinary  feelings.  Had 
a stranger  consulted  only  the  evidence  of  his  ears, 
he  might  have  supposed  that  so  vast  a multitude 
were  assembled  for  some  purpose  which  affected 
them  with  the  deepest  sorrow,  and  stilled  those 
noises  which,  on  all  ordinary  occasions,  arise  from 
such  a concourse ; but  if  he  gazed  upon  their  faces, 
he  would  have  been  instantly  undeceived.  The  com- 
pressed lip,  the  bent  brow,  the  stern  and  flashing  eye 
of  almost  every  one  on  whom  he  looked,  conveyed 
the  expression  pL.m  with 


pearance  of  the  criminal  might  have  somewhat 
changed  the  temper  of  the  populace  in  his  favour, 
and  that  they  might  in  the  moment  of  death  have 
forgiven  the  man  against  whom  their  resentment 
had  been  so  fiercely  heated.  It  had,  however,  been 
destined,  that  the  mutability  of  their  sentiments  was 
not  to  be  exposed  to- this  trial. 

The  usual  hour  for  producing  the  criminal  had 
been  past  for  many  minutes,  yet  the  spectators 
observed  no  symptom  of  his  appearance.  “ Would 


It  is  probable  that  the  ap- 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN. 


4? 


they  venture  to  defraud  public  justice  ? ” was  the 
question  which  men  began  anxiously  to  ask  at  each 
other.  The  first  answer  in  every  case  was  bold  and 
positive,  — “ They  dare  not.”  But  when  the  point 
was  further  canvassed,  other  opinions  were  enter- 
tained, and  various  causes  of  doubt  were  suggested 
Porteous  had  been  a favourite  officer  of  the  magis- 
tracy of  the  city,  which,  being  a numerous  and 
fluctuating  body,  requires  for  its  support  *a  degree 
of  energy  in  its  functionaries,  which  the  individuals 
who  compose  it  cannot  at  all  times  alike  be  sup- 
posed to  possess  in  their  own  persons.  It  was  re- 
membered, that  in  the  Information  for  Porteous,  (the 
paper,  namely,  in  which  his  case  was  stated  to  the 
Judges  of  the  criminal  court,)  he  had  been  described 
by  his  counsel  as  the  person  op  whom  the  magis- 
traffischiefly  relied  in  .all  emergencies  of  uncommon 
difficulty.  It  was  argued,  too,  that  his  conduct,  on 
the  unhappy  occasion  of  Wilson’s  execution,  was 
capable  of  being  attributed  to  an  imprudent  excess 
nf.  7P. al  in  the  eypmitjnn  of  his  duty  a motive  for 
which  those  under  whose  authority  he  acted  might 
be  supposed  to  have  great  sympathy.  And  as  these 
considerations  might  move  the  magistrates  to  make 
a favourable  representation  of  Porteous’s  case,  there 
were  not  wanting  others  in  the  higher  departments 
of  government,  which  would  make  such  suggestions 
favourably  listened  to. 

fjThe  mob  of  Edinburgh,  when  thoroughly  excited, 
had  been  at  all  times  one  of  the  fiercest  which  could 
be  found  in  Europe;  and  of  late  years  they  had  risen 
repeatedly  against  the  government,  and  sometimes 
not  without  temporary  success.  They  were  con- 
scious, therefore,  that  they  were  no  favourites  with 
the  rulers  of  the  period,  and  that,  if  Captain  Por- 


43 


TALES  OE  MY  LANDLORD, 


teous’s  violence  was  not  altogether  regarded  as  good 
service,  it  might  certainly  be  thought,  that  to  visit 
it  with  a capital  punishment  would  render  it  both 
delicate  and  dangerous  for  future  officers,  in  the 
same  circumstances,  to  act  with  effect  in  repressing 
tumultsj  There  is  also  a natural  feeling,  on  the 
part  of  all  members  of  government,  for  the  general 
maintenance  of  authority ; and  it  seemed  not  un- 
likely. that  what  to  the  relatives  of  the  sufferers  ap- 
peared a wanton  and  unprovoked  massacre,  should 
be  otherwise  viewed  in  the  cabinet  of  St.  James’s. 
It  might  be  there  supposed,  that,  upon  the  whole 
matter,  Captain  Porteous  was  in  the  exercise  of  a 
trust  delegated  to  him  by  the  lawful  civil  authority , 
that  he  had  been  assaulted  by  the  populace,  and 
several  of  his  men  hurt ; and  that,  in  finally  repell- 
ing force  by  force,  his  conduct  could  be  fairly  im- 
puted to  no  other  motive  than  self-defence  in  the 
discharge  of  his  duty 

These  considerations,  of  themselves  very  power- 
ful, induced  the  spectators  to  apprehend  the  possi- 
bility of  a reprieve ; and  to  the  various  causes  which 
might  interest  the  rulers  in  his  favour,  the  lower  part 
of  the  rabble  added  one  which  was  peculiarly  well 
adapted  to  their  comprehension.  It  was  averred,  in 
order  toj^crease  the  odium  against  Porteous,  that 
while  (he  repressed  with  the  utmost  severity  the 
slightest  excesses  of  the  poor,  he  not  only  over- 
looked the  license  of  the  young  nobles  and  gentry, 
but  was  very  willing  to  lend  them  the  countenance 
of  his  official  authority,  in  execution  of  such  loose 
pranks  as  it  was  chiefly  his  duty  to  have  restrained^) 
This  suspicion,  which  was  perhaps  much  exaggerated, 
made  a deep  impression  on  the  minds  of  the  popu- 
lace : and  when  several  of  the  higher  rank  joined  in 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN. 


49 


a petition,  recommending  Porteous  to  the  mercy  of 
the  crown,  it  was  generally  supposed  he  owed  their 
favour  not  to  any  conviction  of  the  hardship  of  his 
case,  but  to  the  fear  of  losing  a convenient  accom- 
plice in  their  debaucheries^  scarcely-  necH^ 

sary  to  say  how  much 'This  suspicion  augmented 
the  people’s  detestation  of  this  obnoxious  criminal, 
as  well  as  their  fear  of  his  escaping  the  sentence 
pronounced  against  him. 

While  these  arguments  were  stated  and  replied 
to,  and  canvassed  and  supported,  the  hitherto  silent 
expectation  of  the  people  became  changed  into  that 
deep  and  agitating  murmur,  which  is  sent  forth  by 
the  ocean  before  the  tempest  begins  to  howl.  The 
crowded  populace,  as  if  their  motions  had  corre- 
sponded with  the  unsettled  state  of  their  minds, 
fluctuated  to  and  fro  without  any  visible  cause  of 
impulse,  like  the  agitation  of  the  waters,  called  by 
sailors  the  ground-swell.  The  news,  which  the 
magistrates  had  almost  hesitated  to  communicate  to 
them,  were  at  length  announced,  and  spread  among 
the  spectators  with  a rapidity  like  lightning. 
reprieve  from  the  Secretary  of  State’s  office,  under 
the  hand  of  his  Grace  the  Duke  of  Newcastle,  had 
arrived,  intimating  the  pleasure  of  Que^n  Caroline, 
(regent  of  the  kingdom  during  the  absence  of  George 
II.  on  the  Continent,)  that  the  execution  of  the  sen- 
tence of  death  pronounced  against  John  Porteous, 
late  Captain-Lieutenant  of  the  City-Guard  of  Edin- 
burgh, present  prisoner  in  the  tolbooth  of  that  city, 
be  respited  forj^x  weeks  from  the  time  appointed 
for  his  execution^ 

The  assembleaspectators  of'  almost  all  degrees, 
whose  minds  had  been  wound  up  to  the  pitch  which 
we  have  described,  uttered  a groan,  or  rather  a roar 


50  TALES  OE  MY  LANDLORD. 

of  indignation  and  disappointed  revenge,  similar  to 
that  of  a tiger  from  whom  his  meal  has  been  rent 
by  his  keeper  when  he  was  just  about  to  devour  it. 
This  fierce  exclamation  seemed  to  forebode  some  im- 
mediate explosion  of  popular  resentment,  and,  in  fact, 
such  had  been  expected  by  the  magistrates,  and  the 
necessary  measures  had  been  taken  to  repress  it 
But  the  shout  was  not  repeated,  nor  did  any  sudden 
tumult  ensue,  such  as  it  appeared  to  announce.  The 
populace  seemed  tojhe  n^hamed,  of  having  expressed 
their  disappointment  in  a vain  clamour,  and  the 
sound  changed,  not  into  the  silence  which  had  pre- 
ceded the  arrival  of  these  stunning  news,  but  into 
stifled  mutterings,  which  each  group  maintained 
among  "the naselve s , and  which  were  blended  into  one 
deep  and  hoarse  murmur  which  floated  above  the 
assembly. 

Yet  still,  though  all  expectation  of  the  execution 
was  over,  the  mob  remained  assembled,  stationary, 
as  it  were,  through  very  resentment,  gazing  on  the 
preparations  for  death,  which  had  now  been  made 
in  vain,  and  stimulating  their  feelings,  (py  recalling 
the  various  claims  which  Wilson  might  have  had 
on  royal  mercy}  from  the  mistaken  motives  on  which 
he  acted,  as  well  as  from  the  generosity  he  had  dis- 
played towards  his  accomplice.  “ This  man/’  they 
said,  — “ the  brave,  the  resolute,  the  generous,  was 
executed  to  death  without  mercy  for  stealing  a purse 
of  gold,  which  in  some  sense  he  might  consider  as  a 
fair  reprisal ; while  the  profligate  satellite,  who  took 
advantage  of  a trifling  tumult,  inseparable  from 
such  occasions,  to  shed  the  blood/of  twenty  of  his 
fellow-citizens,  is  deemed  a fitting  object  for  the 
exercise  of  the  royal  prerogative  of  mercy.  £ Is  this 
to  be  borne  ? — would  our  fathers  have  borne  it  \ 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN. 


5* 


Are  not  we,  like  them,  Scotsmen  and  burghers  of 
Edinburgh  ? 9^J 

y?he  officers  of  justice  began  now  to  remove  th 


and  other  preparations  which  had  been 
made  tor  the  execution,  in  hopes,  by  doing  so,  to 
accelerate  the  dispersion  of  the  multitude.  The 
measure  had  the  desired  effect ; for  no  sooner  had 
the  fatal  tree  been  unfixed  from  the  large  stone 
pedestal  or  socket  in  which  it  was  secured,  and  sunk 
slowly  down  upon  the  wain  intended  to  remove  it  to 
the  place  where  it  was  usually  deposited,  than  the 
populace,  after  giving  vent  to  their  feelings  in  a sec- 
ond shout  of  rage  and  mortification,  began  slowly  to 
disperse  to  their  usual  abodes  and  occupations. 

The  windows  were  in  like  manner  gradually  de- 
serted, and  groups  of  the  more  decent  class  of  citi- 
zens formed  themselves,  as  if  waiting  to  return  home- 
wards when  the  streets  should  be  cleared  of  the 
rabble.  Contrary  to  what  is  frequently  the  case, 
this  description  of  persons  agreed  in  general  with  the 
sentiments  of  their  inferiors,  and  considered  the 
cause  as  common  to  all  ranks.  Indeed,  as  we  have 
already  noticed,  it  was  by  no  means  amongst  the 
lowest  class  of  the  spectators,  or  those  most  likely 
to  be  engaged  in  the  riot  at  Wilson's  execution,  that 
the  fatal  fire  of  Porteous’s  soldiers  had  taken  effect. 
Several  persons  were  killed  who  were  looking  out  at 
windows  at  the  scene,  who  could  not  of  course  be- 
long to  the  rioters,  and  were  persons  of  decent  rank 
and  condition.  burghers,  therefore,  resenting  ^ 

the  loss  which  had  fallen  on  their  own  body,  and 
proud  and  tenacious  of  their  rights,  as  the  citizens 
of  Edinburgh  have  at  all  times  been,  were  greatly 
exasperated  at  the  unexpected  respite  of  Captain 
Porteous. 


52 


TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 


It  was  noticed  at  the  time,  and  afterwards  more 
particularly  remembered,  that,  while  the  mob  were 
in  the  act  of  dispersing,  several  individuals  were 
seen  busily  passing  from  one  place  and  one  group  of 
people  to  another,  remaining  long  with  none,  but 
whispering  for  a little  time  with  those  who  appeared 
to  be  declaiming  most  violently  against  the  conduct 
of  government.  These  active,,,  agents  had  the  ap- 
pearance of  men  from  the  country,  and  were  gener- 
ally supposed  to  be  old  friends  avid  confederates  of 
Wilson,  whose  minds  were  of  course  highly  excited 
against  Porteous. 

If,  however,  it  was  the  intention  of  these  men  to 
stir  the  multitude  to  any  sudden  act  of  mutiny,  it 
seemed  for  the  time  to  be  fruitless.  The  rabble,  as 
well  as  the  more  decent  part  of  (the  assembly,  dis- 
persed, and  went  home  peaceably);  and  it  was  only 
by  observing  the  (moody  discontent)  on  their  brows, 
or  catching  the  tenor  of  the  conversation  they  held 
with  each  other,  that  a stranger  could  estimate  the 
state  of  their  minds.  We  will  give  the  reader  this 
advantage,  by  associating  ourselves  with  one  of  the 
numerous  groups  who  were  painfully  ascending  the 
steep  declivity  of  the  West  Bow,  to  return  to  their 
dwellings  in  the  Lawnmarket. 

“An  unco  thing  this,  Mrs.  Bowden,”  said  old 
Peter  Plumdama^  to  his  neighbour  the  rouping- wife, 
or  saleswoman,  as  he  offered  her  his  arm  to  assist 
her  in  the  toilsome  ascent,  “ to  see  the  grit  folk  at 
Lunnon  set  their  face  against  law  and  gospel,  and 
let  loose  sic  a reprobate  as  Porteous  upon  a peace- 
able town ! ” 

“ And  to  think  o’  the  weary  walk  they  hae  gien 
us,”  answered  Mrs.  Howden,  with  a groan  ; “ and  sic 
a comfortable  window  as  I had  gotten,  too,  just 


THE  HEART  OE  MID-LOTHIAN. 


53 


within  a penny-stane-cast  of  the  scaffold  — I could 
hae  heard  every  word  the  minister  said  — and  to 
pay  twalpennies  for  my  stand,  and  a’  for  naething ! ” 
“I  am  judging/’  said  Mr.  Plumdamas;  “that  this 
reprieve  wadna  stand  gude  in  the  auld  Scots  law, 
when  the  kingdom  was  a kingdom.” 

“ I dinna  ken  muckle  about  the  law,”  answered 
Mrs,  Howden  ; “ but  I ken,  when  we  had  a king, 
and  a chancellor,  and  parliament-men  o’  our  ain, 
we  could  aye  peeble  them  wi’  stanes  when  they 
werena  gude  bairns  — But  naebody’s  nails  can 
reach  the  length  o’  Lunnon.” 

“ Weary  on  Lunnon,  and  a’  that  e’er  came  out 
o’t  1 ” said  Mis^  Grizel  Damahoy,  an  ancient  seam- 
stress ; “ they  hae  taeri  awa  our  parliament,  and 
they  hae  oppressed  our  trade.  Our  gentles  will 
hardly  allow  that  a Scots  needle  can  sew  ruffles  on 
a sark,  or  lace  on  an  owerlay.  ” 

“ Ye  may  say  that,  Miss  Damahoy,  and  I ken 
o’  them  that  hae  gotten  raisins  frae  Lunnon  by 
forpits  at  ance,”  responded  Plumdamas,  “ and  then 
sic  an  host  of  idle  English  gaugers  and  excisemen 
as  hae  come  down  to  vex  and  torment  us,  that  an 
honest  man  canna  fetch  sae  muckle  as  a bit  anker 
o’  brandy  frae  Leith  to  the  Lawnmarket,  but  he’s 
like  to  be  rubbit  o’  the  very  gudes  he’s  bought  and 
paid  for. — Weel,  I winna  justify  Andrew  Wilson 
for  pitting  hands  on  what  wasna  his  ; but  if  he 
took  nae  mair  than  his  ain,  there’s  an  awfu’  differ- 
ence between  that  and  the  fact  this  man  stands 
for,” 

“ If  ye  speak  about  the  law,”  said  Mrs.  Howden, 
“here  comes  Mr  Saddletree,  that  can  rattle  it  as 
weel  as  ony  on  the  bench.” 

The  party  she  mentioned,  a grave  elderly  person. 


54 


TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 


with  a superb  periwig,  dressed  in  a decent  suit  of 
sad-coloured  clothes,  came  up  as  she  spoke,  and 
courteously  gave  his  arm  to  Miss  Grizel  Damahoy. 

It  may  be  necessary  to  mention,  thatCMr.  Bartoline 
Saddletree  kept  an  excellent  and  highly  esteemed 
shop  for  harness,  saddles,  &c.,  &c.,at  the  sign  of  the 
Golden  Nag,  at  the  head  of  Bess  Wynd.J)  His  genius, 
however,  (as  he  himself  and  most  of  his  neighbours 
conceived,)  lay  towards  the  weightier  matters  of  the 
law,  and  he  failed  not  to  give  frequent  attendance 
upon  the  pleadings  and  arguments  of  the  lawyers 
and  judges  in  the  neighbouring  square,  where,  to 
say  the  truth,  he  was  oftener  to  be  found  than 
would  have  consisted  with  his  own  emolument ; 
but  that  his  wife,  an  active  pains-taking  person, 
could,  in  his  absence,  make  an  admirable  shift  to 
please  the  customers  and  scold  the  journeymen. 
This  good  lady  was  in  the  habit  of  letting  her  hus- 
band take  his  way,  and  go  on  improving  his  stock 
of  legal  knowledge  without  interruption  ; but,  as 
if  in  requital,  she  insisted  upon  having  her  own 
will  in  the  domestic  and  commercial  departments 
which  he  abandoned  to  her.  Now,  as  Bartoline 
Saddletree  had  a considerable  gift  of  words,  which 
he  mistook  for  eloquence,  and  conferred  more  lib- 
erally upon  the  society  in  which  he  lived  than 
was  at  all  times  gracious  and  acceptable,  there 
went  forth  a saying,  with  which  wags  used  some- 
times to  interrupt  his  rhetoric,  that,  as  he  had  a 
golden  nag  at  his  door,  so  he  had  a grey  maie  in 
his  shop.  This  reproach  induced  Mr  Saddletree, 
on  all  occasions,  to  assume  rather  av_^ugjity^.and 
s^tely_l^n^ jto wards  Jiis^g.Qod,jyi[qnian , a circum- 
stance by  which  she  seemed  very  little  affected,  unless 
he  attempted  to  exercise  any  real  authority,  when  she 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN.  55 

never  failed  to  fly  into  open  rebellion.  But  such 
extremes  Bartoline  seldom  provoked  ; for,  like  the 
gentle  King  Jamie,  he  was  fonder  of  talking  of 
an  th  orj  ty__t  h an  -real  ly  ex ercising  it.  This  turn  of 
mind  was,  on  the  whole,  lucky  for  him  ; since  his 
substance  was  increased  without  any  trouble  on  his 
part,  or  any  interruption  of  his  favourite  studies. 

This  word  in  explanation  has  been  thrown  in  to 
the  reader,  while  Saddletree  was  laying  down,  with 
great  precision,  the  law  upon  Porteotis’s  c^se,  by 
which  he  arrived  at  this  conclusion,  that/if  Por- 
teous  had  fired  five  minutes  sooner,  before  Wilson 
was  cut  down,  he  would  have  been  versans  in  licito  ; 
engaged,  that  is,  in  a lawful  act,  and  only  liable  to 
be  punished  propter  excessum,  or  for  lack  of  discre- 
tion, which  might  have  mitigated  the  punishment 
to  pcena  ordinaria.j 

“ Discretion  ! ” echoed  Mrs.  Howden,  on  whom, 
it  may  well  be  supposed,  the  fineness  of  this  dis- 
tinction was  entirely  thrown  away,  — “whan  had 
Jock  Porteous  either  grace,  discretion,  or  gude  man- 
ners ? — I mind  when  his  father  ” — — - 

“ But,  Mrs.  Howden,”  said  Saddletree  

“And  I,”  said  Miss  Damahoy,  “mind  when  his 
mother  ” — 

“ Miss  Damahoy,”  entreated  the  interrupted  ora- 
tor - — - 

“And  I,”  said  Plumdamas,  “mind  when  his 
wife  ” 

“ Mr.  Plumdamas  — Mrs.  Howden  — Miss  Dama- 
hoy,” again  implored  the  orator,  — “ mind  the  dis- 
tinction, as  Counsellor  Crossmyloof  says,  — ‘ 1/  says 
he,  Hake  a distinction/  Now,  the  body  of  the 
criminal  being  cut  down,  and  the  execution  ended, 
Porteous  was  no  longer  official ; the  act  which  he 


5<5 


TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD, 

• i •:* 

came  to  protect  and  guard,  being  done  and  ended, 
he  was  no  better  than  cuivis  ex  populo” 

“ Quivis  — quivis , Mr.  Saddletree,  craving  your 
pardon/’  said  (with  a prolonged  emphasis  on  the 
first  syllable)  Mr.  Butler,  the  deputy  schoolmaster 
of  a parish  near  Edinburgh,  who  at  that  moment 
came  up  behind  them  as  the  false  Latin  was  uttered. 

“ What  signifies  interrupting  me,  Mr.  Butler  ? — 
but  I am  glad  to  see  ye  notwithstanding  — I speak 
after  Counsellor  Crossmyloof,  and  he  said  cuivis 
“ If  Counsellor  Crossmyloof  used  the  dative  for 
the  nominative,  I would  have  crossed  his  loof  with 
a tight  leathern  strap,  Mr.  Saddletree ; there  is  not 
a boy  on  the  booby  form  but  should  have  been 
scourged  for  such  a solecism  in  grammar.” 

“ I speak  Latin  like  a lawyer,  Mr.  Butler,  and  not 
like  a schoolmaster,”  retorted  Saddletree. 

“ Scarce  like  a schoolboy,  I think,”  rejoined  Butler. 
“ It  matters  little,”  said  Bartoline ; “ all  I mean 
to  say  is,  that  Porteous  has  become  liable  to  the 
poena  extra  ordinem,  or  capital  punishment ; which 
is  to  say,  in  plain  Scotch,  the  gallows,  simply  be- 
cause he  did  not  fire  when  he  was  in  office,  but 
waited  till  the  body  was  cut  down,  the  execution 
whilk  he  had  in  charge  to  guard  implemented,  and 
he  himself  exonered  of  the  public  trust  imposed  on 
him.” 

“ But,  Mr.  Saddletree,”  said  Plumdamas,  “ do  ye 
really  think  John  Porteous’s  case  wad  hae  been 
better  if  he  had  begun  firing  before  ony  stanes  were 
flung  at  a’  ? ” 

“ Indeed  do  I,  neighbour  Plumdamas,”  replied 
Bartoline,  confidently,  “ he  being  then  in  point  of 
trust  and  in  point  of  power,  the  execution  being 
but  inchoat,  or,  at  least,  not  implemented,  or  finally 


THE  HEART  OE  MID-LOTH1AJN . 


57 


ended ; but  after  Wilson  was  cut  down,  it  was  a’ 
ower  — Re  was  clean  exauctorate,  and  had  nae  mair 
ado  but  to  get  awa  wi’  his  guard  up  this  West 
Bow  as  fast  as  if  there  had  been  a caption  after 
him  — And  this  is  law,  for  I heard  it  laid  down  by 
Lord  Vincovincentem.” 

“ Yincovincentem  ? — Is  he  a lord  of  state,  or  a 
lord  of  seat  ? ” enquired  Mrs.  Howden.1 

“ A lord  of  seat  — a lord  of  session.  — I fash  my- 
sell  little  wi’  lords  o’  state  ; they  vex  me  wi’  a wheen 
idle  questions  about  their  saddles,  and  curpels,  and 
holsters,  and  horse-furniture,  and  what  they’ll  cost, 
and  whan  they’ll  be  ready  — a wheen  galloping 
geese  — my  wife  may  serve  the  like  o’  them.” 

“ And  so  might  she,  in  her  day,  hae  served  the 
best  lord  in  the  land,  for  as  little  as  ye  think  o’ 
her,  Mr.  Saddletree,”  said  Mrs.  Howden,  somewhat 
indignant  at  the  contemptuous  way  in  which  her 
gossip  was  mentioned ; “ when  she  and  I were  twa 
gilpies,  we  little  thought  to  hae  sitten  doun  wi’  the 
like  o’  my  auld  Davie  Howden,  or  you  either,  Mr. 
Saddletree.” 

While  Saddletree,  who  was  not  bright  at  a reply, 
was  cudgelling  his  brains  for  an  answer  to  this 
home-thrust,  Miss  Damahoy  broke  in  on  him. 

“ And  as  for  the  lords  of  state,”  said  Miss  Da- 
mahoy, “ ye  suld  mind  the  riding  o’  the  parliament, 
Mr.  Saddletree,  in  the  gude  auld  time  before  the 
Union,  — a year’s  rent  o’  mony  a gude  estate  gaed 
for  horse-graith  and  harnessing,  forby  broidered 
robes  and  foot-mantles,  that  wad  hae  stude  by  their 
lane  wi’  gold  brocade,  and  that  were  muckle  in  my 
ain  line.” 

1 A nobleman  was  called  a Lord  of  State.  The  Senators  of 
the  College  of  Justice  were  termed  Lords  of  Seat,  or  of  the  Session 


5* 


TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 


“ Ay,  and  then  the  lusty  banqueting,  with  sweet- 
meats and  comfits  wet  and  dry,  and  dried  fruits  of 
divers  sorts,”  said  Plumdamas.  “ But  Scotland  was 
Scotland  in  these  days.” 

“ r 11  tell  ye  what  it  is,  neighbours,”  said  Mrs. 
Howden,  “ Til  ne'er  believe  Scotland  is  Scotland 
ony  mair,  if  our  kindly  Scots  sit  doun  with  the 
affront  they  hae  gien  us  this  day.  It’s  not  only  the 
blude  that  is  shed,  but  the  blude  that  might  hae 
been  shed,  that’s  required  at  our  hands ; there  was 
my  daughter’s  wean,  little  Eppie  Daidle  — my  oe, 
ye  ken,  Miss  Grizel  — had  played  the  truant  frae  the 

school,  as  bairns  will  do,  ye  ken,  Mr.  Butler  ” 

“ And  for  which,”  interjected  Mr.  Butler,  “ they 
should  be  soundly  scourged  by  their  well-wishers.” 

“ And  had  just  cruppen  to  the  gallows’  foot  to 
see  the  hanging,  as  was  natural  for  a wean ; and 
what  for  mightna  she  hae  been  shot  as  weel  as  the 
rest  o’  them,  and  where  wad  we  a’  hae  been  then  ? 
I wonder  how  Queen  Carline  (if  her  name  be  Car- 
line) wad  hae  liked  to  hae  had  ane  o’  her  ain  bairns 
in  sic  a venture  ? ” 

“ Report  says,”  answered  Butler,  “ that  such  a 
circumstance  would  not  have  distressed  her  majesty 
beyond  endurance.” 

“Aweel,”  said  Mrs.  Howden,  “the  sum  o*  the 
matter  is,  that,  were  I a man,  I wad  hae  amends  o’ 
Jock  Porteous,  be  the  upshot  what  like  o’t,  if  a* 
the  carles  and  carlines  in  England  had  sworn  to 
the  nay-say.” 

“ I would  claw  down  the  tolbooth  door  wi’  my 
nails,”  said  Miss  Grizel,  “ but  I wad  be  at  him.” 

“ Ye  may  be  very  right,  ladies,”  said  Butler, 
“ but  I would  not  advise  you  to  speak  so  loud.” 

“ Speak ! ” exclaimed  both  the  ladies  together, 


THE  HEART  OE  MID-LOTHIAN. 


59 


“ there  will  be  naething  else  spoken  about  frae  the 
Weigh-house  to  the  Water-gate,  till  this  is  either 
ended  or  mended.” 

The  females  now  departed  to  their  respective 
places  of  abode.  Plumdamas  joined  the  other  two 
gentlemen  in  drinking  their  meridian , (a  bumper- 
dram  of  brandy,)  as  they  passed  the  well-known 
low-browed  shop  in  the  Lawnmarket,  where  they 
were  wont  to  take  that  refreshment.  Mr.  Plumda- 
mas then  departed  towards  his  shop,  and  Mr.  But- 
ler, who  happened  to  have  some  particular  occasion 
for  the  rein  of  an  old  bridle,  (the  truants  of  that 
busy  day  could  have  anticipated  its  application,) 
walked  down  the  Lawnmarket  with  Mr.  Saddletree, 
each  talking  as  he  could  get  a word  thrust  in,  the 
one  on  the  laws  of  Scotland,  the  other  on  those  of 
Syntax,  and  neither  listening  to  a word  which  his 
companion  uttered. 


CHAPTER  Y. 


Elswhair  he  colde  right  wee!  lay  down  the  law, 

But  in  his  house  was  meek  as  is  a daw. 

Davie  Lindsay. 

“ There  has  been  Jock  Driver  the  carrier  here, 
speering  about  his  new  graith,”  said  Mrs.  Saddle- 
tree to  her  husband,  as  he  crossed  his  threshold, 
not  with  the  purpose,  by  any  means,  of  consulting 
him  upon  his  own  affairs,  but  merely  • to  intimate, 
by  a gentle  recapitulation,  ~sha-had 

gone ftbseijne. 

“ Weel,”  replied  Bartoline,  and  deigned  not  a 
word  more. 

“ And  the  Laird  of  Girdingburst  has  had,  his 
running  footman  here,  and  ca’d  himsell,  (he's  a 
civil  pleasant  young  gentleman,)  to  see  when  the 
broidered  saddle-cloth  for  his  sorrel  horse  will  be 
ready,  for  he  wants  it  agane  the  Kelso  races.” 

“ Weel,  aweel,”  replied  Bartoline,  as  laconically 
as  before. 

“ And  his  lordship,  the  Earl  of  Blazonbury,  Lord 
Flash  and  Flame,  is  like  to  be  clean  daft,  that  the 
harness  for  the  six  Flanders  mears,  wi’  the  crests, 
coronets,  housings,  and  mountings  conform,  are  no 
sent  hame  according  to  promise  gien.” 

“Weel,  weel,  weel  — weel,  weel,  gudswife,”  said 
Saddletree,  “ if  he  gangs  daft,  we’ll  hae  him 
cognosced  — it’s  a'  very  weel.” 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN. 


61 


" It’s  weel  that  ye  think  sae,  Mr.  Saddletree/'  an- 
swered his  helpmate,  rather  nettled  at  the  indiffer- 
ence with  which  her  report  was  received ; “ there’s 
mony  ane  wad  hae  thought  themselves  affronted,  if 
sae  mony  customers  had  ca’d  and  naebody  to  an- 
swer them  but  women-folk ; for  a’  the  lads  were  aff, 
as  soon  as  your  back  was  turned,  to  see  Porteous 
hanged,  that  might  be  counted  upon ; and  sae,  you 
no  being  at  hame  ” 

“Houts,  Mrs.  Saddletree,”  said  Bartoline,  with 
an  air  of  consequence,  “ dinna  deave  me  wi’  your 
nonsense ; I was  under  the  necessity  of  being  else- 
where — non  omnia—  as  Mr.  Crossmyloof  said,  when 
he  was  called  by  two  macers  at  once,  non  omnia 
possumus — pessimus — possimis — I ken  our  law- 
latin  offends  Mr.  Butler’s  ears,  but  it  means  nae- 
body, an  it  were  the  Lord  President  himsell,  can  do 
twa  turns  at  ance.” 

“ Very  right,  Mr.  Saddletree,”  answered  his  careful 
helpmate,  with  a sarcastic  smile  ; “ and  nae  doubt  it’s 
a decent  thing  to  leave  your  wife  to  look  after  young 
gentlemen’s  saddles  and  bridles,  when  ye  gang  to  see 
a man,  thaf  never  did  ye  nae  ill,  raxing  a halter.” 

“Woman,”  said  Saddletree,  assuming  an  eleva- 
ted tone,  to  which  the  meridian  had  somewhat  con- 
tributed, “ desist,  — I say  forbear,  from  intromitting 
with  affairs  thou  canst  not  understand.  D’ye  think 
I was  born  to  sit  here  broggin  an  elshin  through 
bend-leather,  when  sic  men  as  Duncan  Forbes,  and 
that  other  Arniston  chield  there,  without  muckle 
greater  parts,  if  the  close-head  speak  true,  than  my- 
sell,  maun  be  presidents  and  king’s  advocates,  nae 
doubt,  and  wha  but  they  ? Whereas,  were  favour 
equally  distribute,  as  in  the  days  of  the  wight 
Wallace” — — 


62 


TALES  OE  MY  LANDLORD. 


“ I ken  naething  we  wad  hae  gotten  by  the  wight 
Wallace,1 ” said  Mrs.  Saddletree,  “unless,  as  I hae 
heard  the  auld  folk  tell,  they  fought  in  thae  days 
wi’  bend-leather  guns,  and  then  it’s  a chance  but 
what,  if  he  had  bought  them,  he  might  have  forgot 
to  pay  for  them.  And  as  for  the  greatness  of  your 
parts,  Bartley,  the  folk  in  the  close-head  maun  ken 
mair  about  them  than  I do,  if  they  make  sic  a report 
of  them.,, 

“ I tell  ye,  woman,”  said  Saddletree,  in  high  dud* 
geon,  “that  ye  ken  naething  about  these  matters. 
In  Sir  William  Wallace’s  days,  there  was  nae  man 
pinned  down  to  sic  a slavish  wark  as  a saddler’sjffor 
they  got  ony  leather  graith^  that  they  had  usufor 
ready-made  out  of  Holland.”) 

“Well,”  said  Butler,  whcrwas,  like  many  of  his 
profession,  something  of  a humorist^and  dry  joker, 
“ if  that  be  the  case,  Mr.  Saddle tree/i  think  we  have 
changed  for  the  better ; since  we  make  our  own  har- 
ness, and  only  import  our  lawyers  from  Holland.” 

“ It’s  ower  true,  Mr.  Butler,”  answered  Bartoline, 
with  a sigh ; “ if  I had  had  the  luck  — or  rather,  if 
my  father  had  had  the  sense  to  send  me  to  Ley- 
den and  Utrecht  to  learn  the  Substitutes  and 
Pandex ” 

“ You  mean  the  Institutes  — Justinian’s  Institutes, 
Mr.  Saddletree  ? ” said  Butler. 

“ Institutes  and  substitutes  are  synonymous  words, 
Mr.  Butler,  and  used  indifferently  as  such  in  deeds  of 
tailzie,  as  you  may  see  in  Balfour’s  Practiques,  or 
Dallas  of  St.  Martin’s  Styles.  I understand  these 
things  pretty  weel,  I thank  God;  but  I own  I 
should  have  studied  in  Holland.' 

“ To  comfort  you,  you  might  not  have  been  farther 
forward  than  you  are  now,  Mr.  Saddletree.”  replied 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN. 


63 


Mr.  Butler ; “ for  our  Scottish  advocates  are  an  aris- 
tocratic race.  Their  brass  is  of  the  right  Corinthian 
quality,  and  Non  cuivis  contigit  adire  Corinthum  — 
Aha,  Mr.  Saddletree  ? ” 

“And  aha,  Mr.  Butler,”  rejoined  Bartoline,  upon 
whom,  as  may  be  well  supposed,  the  jest  was  lost, 
and  all  but  the  sound  of  the  words,  “ye  said  a gliff 
syne  it  was  quivis,  and  now  I heard  ye  say  cuivis 
with  my  ain  ears,  as  plain  as  ever  I heard  a word  at 
the  fore-bar.” 

“ Give  me  your  patience,  Mr.  Saddletree,  and  IT1 
explain  the  discrepancy  in  three  words,”  said  Butler, 
as  pedantic  in  his  own  department,  though  with 
infinitely  more  judgment  and  learning,  as  Bartoline 
was  in  his  self-assumed  profession  of  the  law  — 
“Give  me  your  patience  for  a moment  — You’ll 
grant  that  the\nominative  case  is  that  by  which  a 
person  or  thing  is  nominated  or  designed,)and  which 
may  be  called  the  primary  case,  all  others  being 
formed  from  it  by  alterations  of  the  termination  in 
the  learned  languages,  and  by  prepositions  in  our 
modern  Babylonian  jargons.  You’ll  grant  me  that, 
I suppose,  Mr.  Saddletree  ? ” 

“ I dinna  ken  whether  I will  or  no  — ad  avisan- 
dum , ye  ken  — naebody  should  be  in  a hurry  to 
make  admissions,  either  in  point  of  law,  or  in  point 
of  fact,”  said  Saddletree,  looking,  or  endeavouring 
to  look,  as  if  he  understood  what  was  said. 

“And  the  dative  case,”  continued  Butler 

“ I ken  what  a tutor  dative  is,”  said  Saddletree, 
"readily  enough.” 

(^The  dative  case,”  resumed  the  grammarian,/' is 
that  in  which  any  thing  is  given  or  assigned]  as 
properly  belonging  to  a person,  or  thing. — You 
cannot  deny  that,  I am  sure.” 


64 


TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 


"Iam  sure  I’ll  no  grant  it,  though/’  said  Saddle- 
tree. 

“ Then,  what  the  deevil  d’ye  take  the  nominative 
and  the  dative  cases  to  be  ? ” said  Butler,  hastily, 
and  surprised  at  once  out  of  his  decency  of  expression 
and  accuracy  of  pronunciation. 

"Ill  tell  you  that  at  leisure,  Mr.  Butler,”  said 
Saddletree,  with  a very  knowing  look ; “ I’ll  take  a 
day  to  see  and  answer  every  article  of  your  con- 
descendence, and  then  I’ll  hold  you  to  confess  or 
deny,  as  accords/’ 

“Come,  come,  Mr.  Saddletree,”  said  his  wife, 
" we’ll  hae  nae  confessions  and  condescendences 
here,  let  them  deal  in  thae  sort  o’  wares  that  are 
paid  for  them  — they  suit  the  like  o’  us  as  ill  as  a 
demipique  saddle  would  set  a draught  ox.” 

“ Aha ! ” said  Mr.  Butler,  “ Optat  ephippia  bos 
piger,  nothing  new  under  the  sun  — But  it  was  a 
fair  hit  of  Mrs.  Saddletree,  however.” 

"And  it  wad  far  better  become  ye,  Mr.  Saddle- 
tree,” continued  his  helpmate,  " since  ye  say  ye  hae 
^skeel  o’  the  law,  to  try  if  ye  can  do  ony  thing  for 
/Effie^Deans,  puir  thing,  that’s  lying  up  in  the  tob 
booth  yonder,  cauld,  and  hungry,  and  comfortlesg) 
— A servant  lass  of  ours,  Mr.  Butler,  and  as  inno- 
cent a lass,  to  my  thinking,  and  as  usefu’  in  the 
chop  — When  Mr.  Saddletree  gangs  out,  — and  ye’re 
aware  he’s  seldom  at  hame  when  there’s  ony  o’  the 
plea-houses  open,  — ^jiir  Effie  used  to  help  me  to 
tumble  the  bundles  o’  barkened  leather  up  and 
down,  and  range  out  the  gudes,  and  suit  a’  body’s 
humours.^>  And  troth,  she  could  aye  please  the 
customers  wi’  her  answers,  for  she  was  aye  civil, 
and  a bonnier  lass  wasna  in  Auld  Reekie.  And 
when  folk  were  hasty  and  unreasonable,  she  could 


THE  HEART  OE  MID-LOTHIAN. 


6$ 


serve  them  better  than  me,  that  am  no  sae  young 
as  I hae  been,  Mr.  Butler,  and  a wee  bit  short  in 
the  temper  into  the  bargain.  For  when  there's 
ower  mony  folks  crying  on  me  at  anes,  and  nane 
but  ae  tongue  to  answer  them,  folk  maun  speak 
hastily,  or  they'll  ne’er  get  through  their  wark. 
Sae  I miss  Effie  daily.” 

“ De  die  in  diem ,”  added  Saddletree. 

“ I think,”  said  Butler^  after  a good  deal  of  hesi- 
tation, “ I have  seen  the  girl  in  the  shop  — a modest- 
looking,  fair-haired  girl  ? ” 

“ Ay,  ay,  that’s  just  puir  Effie,”  said  her  mistress. 
“ How  she  was  abandoned  to  hersell,  or  whether 
she  was  sackless  o’  the  sinfu’  deed,  God  in  Heaven 
knows ; but  if  she’s  been  guilty,  she’s  been  sair 
tempted,  and  I wad  amaist  take  my  Bible-aith  she 
hasna  been  hersell  at  the  time,” 

Butler  had  by  this  time  become  much  agitated ; 
he  fidgeted  up  and  down  the  shop,  and  showed  the 
greatest  agitation  that  a person  of  such  strict  de- 
corum could  be  supposed  to  give  way  to.  “Was 
not  this  girl,”  he  said,  ^the  daughter  of  David  Deans, 
that  had  the  parks  at  St  Leonard’s  taken  ? and  has 
she  not  a sister 

“ In  troth  has  she  — puir  Jeanie  Deans^  ten  years 
aulder  than  hersell ; she  was  here  greeting  a wee 
while  syne  about  her  tittie.  And  what  could 
I say  to  her,  but  that  she  behoved  to  come  and 
speak  to  Mr.  Saddletree  when  he  was  at  hame  ? 
It  wasna  that  I thought  Mr.  Saddletree  could  do 
her  or  ony  other  body  muckle  good  or  ill,  but  it 
wad  aye  serve  to  keep  the  puir  thing’s  heart  up 
for  a wee  while  ; and  let  sorrow  come  when  sorrow 
maun.” 

“ Ye’re  mistaen  though,  gudewife,”  said  Saddle- 


66 


TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 


tree,  scornfully,  “for  I could  hae  gien  her  great 
satisfaction  ; I could  hae  proved  to  her  that  her  sis- 
ter was  indicted  upon  the  statute  saxteen  hundred 
and  ninety,  chapter  one  —{Tor  the  mair  ready  pre- 
/ vention  of  child-murder  — for  concealing  her  preg- 
nancy, and  living  no  account  of  the  child  which  she 
had  borne/j 

“ I hope,”  said  Butler,  — “I  trust  in  a gracious 
God,  that  she  can  clear  herself.” 

“ And  sae  do  I,  Mr.  Butler,”  replied  Mrs.  Saddle- 
n tree.  “ I am  sure  I wad  hae  answered  for  her  as 
• my  ain  daughter ; but,  wae’s  my  heart,  I had  been 
tender  a*  the  simmer,  and  scarce  ower  the  door  o' 
my  room  for  twal  weeks.  And  as  for  Mr.  Saddle- 
tree, he  might  be  in  a lying-in  hospital,  and  ne’er 
find  out  what  the  women  cam  there  for.  Sae  I 
could  see  little  or  naething  o’  her,  or  I wad  hae  had 
the  truth  o’  her  situation  out  o’  her,  I’se  warrant  ye 
- — But  we  a’  think  her  sister  maun  be  able  to  speak 
something  to  clear  her  ” 

“The  haill  Parliament  House,”  said  Saddletree, 
“ was  speaking  o’  naething  else,  till  this  job  o’  Por- 
teous’s  put  it  out  o’  head  — It’s  a beautiful  point 
of  presumptive  murder,  and  there’s  been  nane  like 
it  in  the  Justiciar  Court  since  the  case  of  Luckie 
Smith  the  howdie,  that  suffered  in  the  year  saxteen 
hundred  and  seventy-nine.” 

“ But  what’s  the  matter  wi’  you,  Mr.  Butler  ? ” 
said  the  good  woman ; “ ye  are  looking  as  ^vhite  as 
sushoet ; will  ye  take  a dram  ? ” 

“By  no  means,”  said  Butler,  compelling  himself 
to  speak.  “ I walked  in  from  Dumfries  yesterday, 
and  this  is  a warm  day.” 

“ Sit  down,”  said  Mrs.  Saddletree,  laying  hands  on 
him  kindly,  “ and  rest  ye  — ye’ll  kill  yoursell,  man, 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN. 


at  that  rate  — And  are  we  to  wish  you  joy  o’  getting 
the  scule,  Mr.  Butler  ? ” 

“Yes  — no  — I do  not  know,”  answered  the  young 
man  vaguely.  But  Mrs.  Saddletree  kept  him  to 
the  point,  partly  out  of  real  interest,  partly  from 
curiosity. 

“ Ye  dinna  ken  whether  ye  are  to  get  the 
scule  o’  Dumfries  or  no,  after  hinging  on  and  teach- 
in  or  if  a;  the  simmer  ? ” 


o,  Mrs.  Saddletree  — I am  not  to  have  it,”  re-  \ 
p]  Butler,  more  collectedly.  “ The  Laird  of  Black- 
at-the-bane  had  a natural  son  bred  to  the  kirk,  that 
the  Presbytery  could  not  be  prevailed  upon  to  license ; 


“ Ay,  ye  need  say  nae  mair  about  it ; if  there  was 
a laird  that  had  a puir  kinsman  or  a bastard  that  it 
wad  suit,  there’s  eneugh  said.  — And  ye’re  e’en  come 
back  to  Libberton  to  wait  for  dead  men’s  shoon  ? — ■ 
and,  for  as  frail  as  Mr.  Whackbairn  is,  he  may  live  as  / 
lang  as  you,  that  are  his  assistant  and  successor.” 
“Very  like,”  replied  Butler  with  a sigh;  “Ido 
not  know  if  I should  wish  it  otherwise.” 

“ Nae  doubt  it’s  a very  vexing  thing,”  continued 
the  good  lady,  “ to  be  in  that  dependent  station  ; 
and  you  that  hae  right  and  title  to  sae  muckle  bet- 
ter, I wonder  how  ye  bear  these  crosses.” 

“ Quos  diligit  castigat”  answered  Butler ; “ even 


the  pagan  Seneca  could  see  an  advantage  in  afflic- 
tion. ( The  Heathens  had  their  philosophy,  and  the 
Jews  their  revelation,  Mrs.  Saddletree,  and  they 
endured  their  distresses  in  their  day.  Christians 
have  a better  dispensation  than  either  — but  doubt- 
lesg^ 

He  stopped  and  sighed. 

“ I ken  what  ye  mean,”  said  Mrs.  Saddletree,  look 


and  so 


68 


TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 


ing  towards  her  husband  ; “ there’s  whiles  we  lose 
patience  in  spite  of  baith  book  and  Bible  — But  ye 
are  no  gaun  awa,  and  looking  sae  poorly  — yell 
stay  and  take  some  kail  wf  us  ? ” 

Mr.  Saddletree  laid  aside  Balfour’s  Practiques,  (his 
favourite  study,  and  much  good  may  it  do  him,)  to 
join  in  his  wife’s  hospitable  importunity.  But  the 
teacher  declined  all  entreaty,  and  took  his  leave 
upon  the  spot. 

“ There’s  something  in  a’  this,”  said  Mrs.  Saddle* 
tree,  looking  after  him  as  he  walked  up  the  street ; 
“ I wonder  what  makes  Mr.  Butler  sae  distressed 
about  Effie’s  misfortune  — there  was  nae  acquaint- 
ance atween  them  that  ever  I saw  or  heard  of ; but 
(they  were  neighbours  when  David  Deans  was  on  the 
Laird  o’  Dumbiedikes’  lamp  Ain  Butler  wad  ken 
hoiLjaiJiRL.  or  sojna^kar  .folk.  — Get  up,  Mr  Sad- 
dletree — ye  have  set  yoursell  down  on  the  very 
brecham  that  wants  stitching  — and  here’s  little 
Willie,  the  prentice. — Ye  little  rin-there-out  deil  that 
ye  are,  what  takes  you  raking  through  the  gutters  to 
see  folk  hangit  ? — how  wad  ye  like  when  it  comes 
^ to  be  your  ain  chance,  as  I winna  ensure  ye,  if  ye 
v dinna  mend  your  manners  ? — And  what  are  ye 
maundering  and  greeting  for,  as  if  a word  were 
breaking  your  banes  ? — Gang  in  by,  and  be  a better 
bairn  another  time,  and  tell  Peggy  to  gie  ye  a bicker 
o’  broth,  for  ye’ll  be  as  gleg  as  a gled,  I’se  warrant 
ye.  — It’s  a fatherless  bairn,  Mr,  Saddletree,  and 
motherless,  whilk  in  some  cases  may  be  waur,  and 
ane  would  take  care  o’  him  if  they  could  — it’s  a 
Christian  duty.” 

“Very  true,  gudewife,”  said  Saddletree,  in  reply, 
,tf  we  are  in  loco  parentis  to  him  during  his  years  of 
pupillarity,  and  I hae  had  thoughts  of  applying  to 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN. 


69 


the  Court  for  a commission  as  factor  loco  tutoris , 
seeing  there  is  nae  tutor  nominate,  and  the  tutor- 
at-law  declines  to  act ; but  only  I fear  the  expense 
of  the  procedure  wad  not  be  in  rem  versam , for  I 
am  not  aware  if  Willie  has  ony  effects  whereof  to 
assume  the  administration.” 

He  concluded  this  sentence  with  a self-important 
cough,  as  one  who  has  laid  down  the  law  in  an  in- 
disputable manner. 

“ Effects  ! ” said  Mrs.  Saddletree,  “ what  effects 
has  the  puir  wean  ? — he  was  in  rags  when  his 
mother  died ; and  the  blue  polonie  that  Effie  made 
for  him  out  of  an  auld  mantle  of  my  ain,  was  the 
first  decent  dress  the  bairn  ever  had  on.  Puir  Effie  i 
can  ye  tell  me  now  really,  wi’  a’  your  law,  will  her 
life  be  in  danger,  Mr.  Saddletree,  when  they  arena 
able  to  prove  that  ever  there  was  a bairn  ava  ? ” 

“ Whoy,”  said  Mr.  Saddletree,  delighted  at  having 
for  once  in  his  life  seen  his  wife’s  attention  arrested 
by  a topic  of  legal  discussion  — • “ Whoy,  there  are 
two  sorts  of  murdrum,,  or  murdragium,  or  what  you 
populariter  et  vulgariter  call  murther.  I mean  there 
are  many  sorts ; for  there’s  your  murthrum  per 
vigilias  et  insidias,  and  your  murthrum  under 
trust.” 

“I  am  sure,”  replied  his  moiety,  “that  murther 
by  trust  is  the  way  that  the  gentry  murther  us  mer- 
chants, and  whiles  make  us  shut  the  booth  up  — 
but  that  has  naething  to  do  wi’  Effie’s  misfortune.” 

“ The  case  of  Effie  (or  Euphemia)  Deans,”  re- 
sumed Saddletree,  “ is  one  of  those  cases  of  murder 
presumptive,  that  is,  a murder  of  the  law’s  inferring 
or  construction,  being  derived  frommertain  indicia 
or  grounds  of  suspicion.” 

“ So  that,”  said  the  good  woman,  “ unless  puil  \ 


7o 


TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 


Effie  "has  communicated  her  situation,  shell  be 
anged  by  the  neck,  if  the  bairn  was  still-born,  or 
it  be  alive  at  this  moment  ? ” 

“ Assuredly/’  said  Saddletree,  “ it  being  a statute 
made  by  our  sovereign  Lord  and  Lady,  to  prevent  the 
horrid  delict  of  bringing  forth  children  in  secret  — 
The^cmne  is  rather  a favourite  of  the  law,  this 
species  of  murther  being  one  of  its  ain  creation/* 

“ Then,  if  the  law  makes  murders/*  said  Mrs, 
Saddletree,  “ the  law  should  be  hanged  for  them ; or 
if  they  wad  hang  a lawyer  instead,  the  country  wad 
find  nae  faut/* 

A summons  to  their  frugal  dinner  interrupted  the 
further  progress  of  the  conversation,  which  was 
otherwise  like  to  take  a turn  much  less  favourable 
to  the  science  of  jurisprudence  and  its  professors, 
than  Mr.  Bartoline  Saddletree,  the  fond  admirer  of 
both,  had  at  its  opening  anticipated. 


CHAPTER.  VI. 


But  up  then  raise  all  Edinburgh, 

They  all  rose  up  by  thousands  three. 

Johnnie  Armstrong's  Goodnight . 

Butler,  on  his  departure  from  the  sign  o£  the  Gol- 
den  Nag,  went  in  quest  of  a friend  of  his  connected 
with  the  law,  of  whom  he  wished  to  make  particular 
enquiries  concerning  the  circumstances  in  which 
the  unfortunate  young  woman  mentioned  in  the  last 
chapter  was  placed,  having,  as  the  reader  has  pro- 
bably already  conjectured,  reasons  much  deeper  than 
those  dictated  by  mere  humanity,  for  interesting 
himself  in  her  fate.  He  found  the  person  he  sought 
absent  from  home,  and  was  equally  unfortunate  in 
one  or  two  other  calls  which  he  made  upon  ac- 
quaintances whom  he  hoped  to  interest  in  her  story. 
But  every  body  was,  for  the  moment,  stark-mad  on 
the  subject  of  Porteous,  and  engaged  busily  in  at- 
tacking or  defending  the  measures  of  government 
in  reprieving  him ; and  the  ardour  of  dispute  had 
excited  such  universal  thirst,  that  half  the  young 
lawyers  and  writers,  together  with  their  very  clerks, 
the  class  whom  Butler  was  looking  after,  had  ad- 
journed the  debate  to  some  favourite  tavern.  It  was 
computed  by  an  experienced  arithmetician,  that 
there  was  as  much  twopenny  ale  consumed  on  the  dis- 
cussion as  would  have  floated  a first-rate  man-of-war. 

Butler  wandered  about  until  it  was  dusk,  resolv- 
ing to  take  that  opportunity  of  visiting  the  un- 
fortunate young  woman,  when  his  doing  so  might 


7 2 


TALES  OE  MY  LANDLORD. 


be  least  observed ; for  he  had  his  own  reasons  for 
avoiding  the  remarks  of  Mrs.  Saddletree,  whose 
shop-door  opened  at  no  great  distance  from  that  of 
the  jail,  though  on  the  opposite  or  south  side  of  the 
street,  and  a little  higher  up.  He  passed,  therefore, 
through  the  narrow  and  partly  covered  passage 
leading  from  the  north-west  end  of  the  Parliament 
Square. 

He  stood  now  before  the  Gothic  entrance  of  the 
ancient  prison,  which,  as  is  well  known  to  all  men, 
rears  its  ancient  front  in  the  very  middle  of  the 
High  Street,  forming,  as  it  were,  the  termination  to 
a huge  pile  of  buildings  called  the  Luckenbooths, 
which,  for  some  inconceivable  reason,  our  ancestors 
had  jammed  into  the  midst  of  the  principal  street  of 
the  town,  leaving  for  passage  a narrow  street  on  the 
north,  and  on  the  south,  into  which  the  prison 
opens,  a narrow  crooked  lane,  winding  betwixt  the 
high  and  sombre  walls  of  the  Tolbooth  and  the  ad- 
jacent houses  on  the  one  side,  and  the  buttresses 
and  projections  of  the  old  Cathedral  upon  the  other. 
To  give  some  gaiety  to  this  sombre  passage,  (well 
known  by  the  name  of  the  Krames,)  a number  of 
little  booths,  or  shops,  after  the  fashion  of  cobblers’ 
stalls,  are  plastered,  as  it  were,  against  the  Gothic 
projections  and  abutments,  so  that  it  seemed  as  if 
the  traders  had  occupied  with  nests,  bearing  the 
same  proportion  to  the  building,  every  buttress  and 
coign  of  vantage,  as  the  martlet  did  in  Macbeth’s 
Castle.  Of  later  years  these  booths  have  degene- 
rated into  mere  toy-shops,  where  the  little  loiterers 
chiefly  interested  in  such  wares  are  tempted  to  lin- 
ger, enchanted  by  the  rich  display  of  hobby-horses, 
babies,  and  Dutch  toys,  arranged  in  artful  and  gay 
confusion ; yet  half-scared  by  the  cross  looks  of  the 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN. 


73 


withered  pantaloon,  or  spectacled  old  lady,  by  whom 
these  tempting  stores  are  watched  and  superintended. 
But,  in  the- times  we  write  of,  the  hosiers,  the  glovers, 
the  hatters,  the  mercers,  the  milliners,  and  all  who 
dealt  in  the  miscellaneous  wares  now  termed  haber- 
dasher’s goods,  were  to  be  found  in  this  narrow  alley. 

To  return  from  our  digression.  Butler  found  the 
outer  turnkey,  a tall,  thin,  old  man,  with  long  silver 
hair,  in  the  act  of  locking  the  outward  door  of  the 
jail.  He  addressed  himself  to  this  person,  and 
asked  admittance  to  Effie  Deans,  confined  upon 
accusation  of  child-murder.  The  turnkey  looked 
at  him  earnestly,  and,  civilly  touching  his  hat  out 
of  respect  to  Butler’s  black  coat  and  clerical  appear- 
ance, replied,  “ It  was  impossible  any  one  could  be 
admitted  at  present.” 

“You  shut  up  earlier  than  usual,  probably  on 
account  of  Captain  Porteous’s  affair  ? ” said  Butler. 

The  turnkey,  with  the  true  mystery  of  a person  in 
office,  gave  two  grave  nods,  and  withdrawing  from  the 
wards  a ponderous  key  of  about  two  feet  in  length, 
he  proceeded  to  shut  a strong  plate  of  steel,  which 
folded  down  above  the  keyhole,  and  was  secured  by 
a steel  spring  and  catch.  Butler  stood  still  in- 
stinctively while  the  door  was  made  fast,  and  then 
looking  at  his  watch,  walked  briskly  up  the  street, 
muttering  to  himself  almost  unconsciously  — 

Porta  adversa,  ingens,  solidoque  adamante  columnse ; 

Vis  ut  nulla  virdm,  non  ipsi  exscindere  ferro 

Coelicolse  valeant  — Stat  ferrea  turris  ad  auras  — &c. 1 

1 Wide  is  the  fronting  gate,  and,  raised  on  high, 

With  adamantine  columns  threats  the  sky ; 

Vain  is  the  force  of  man,  and  Heaven’s  as  vain, 

To  crush  the  pillars  which  the  pile  sustain; 

Sublime  on  these  a tower  of  steel  is  rear’d. 

Dryden’s  Virgil , book  ui 


74 


TALES  OE  MY  LANDLORD. 


Having  wasted  half  an  hour  more  in  a second 
fruitless  attempt  to  find  his  legal  friend  and  ad- 
viser, he  thought  it  time  to  leave  the  city  and 
return  to  his  place  of  residence,  in  a small  village 
about  two  miles  and  a half  to  the  southward  of 
Edinburgh.  The  metropolis  was  at  this  time  sur- 
rounded by  a high  wall,  with  battlements  and 
flanking  projections  at  some  intervals,  and  the 
access  was  through  gates,  called  in  the  Scottish 
language  ports,  which  were  regularly  shut  at  night. 
A small  fee  to  the  keepers  would  indeed  procure 
egress  and  ingress  at  any  time,  through  a wicket 
left  for  that  purpose  in  the  large  gate,  but  it  was  of 
some  importance,  to  a man  so  poor  as  Butler,  to 
avoid  even  this  slight  pecuniary  mulct ; and  fear- 
ing the  hour  of  shutting  the  gates  might  be  near,  he 
made  for  that  to  which  he  found  himself  nearest, 
although,  by  doing  so,  he  somewhat  lengthened  his 
walk  homewards  Bristo  Port  was  that  by  which 
his  direct  road  lay,  but  the  West  Port,  which  leads 
out  of  the  Grassmarket,  was  the  nearest  of  the  city 
gates  to  the  place  where  he  found  himself,  and  to 
that,  therefore,  he  directed  his  course.  He  reached 
the  port  in  ample  time  to  pass  the  circuit  of  the 
walls,  and  enter  a suburlT  called  Portsburgh,  chiefly 
inhabited  by  the  lower  o^der  of  citizens  and  me- 
chanics. Here  he  was  unexpectedly  interrupted) 
He  had  not  gone  far  from  the  gate  before  he 
heard  the  sound  of  a drum,  and,  to  his  great  sur- 
prise, met  a number  of  persons,  sufficient  to  occupy 
the  whole  front  of  the  street,  and  form  a consider- 
able mass  behind,  moving  with  great  speed  towards 
the  gate  he  had  just  come  from,  and  having  in  front 
of  them  a drum  beating  to  arms.  While  he  com 
sidered  how  he  should  escape  a party,  assembled. 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN. 


75 


as  it  might  be  presumed,  for  no  lawful  purpose, 
they  came  full  on  him  and  stopped  him. 

“Are  you  a clergyman  ? ” one  questioned  him. 

Butler  replied,  that  “ he  was  in  orders,  but  was 
not  a placed  minister.” 

“It’s  Mr.  Butler  from  Libberton,”  said  a voice 
from  behind;  “he’ll  discharge  the  duty  as  weel  as 
ony  man.” 

“ You  must  turn  back  with  us,  sir,”  said  the  first 
speaker,  in  a tone  civil  but  peremptory. 

“ For  what  purpose,  gentlemen  ? ” said  Mr.  Butler. 
“ I live  at  some  distance  from  town  — the  roads  are 
unsafe  by  night  — you  will  do  me  a serious  injury 
by  stopping  me.” 

“ You  shall  be  sent  safely  home  — no  man  shall 
touch  a hair  of  your  head  — but  you  must  and  shall 
come  along  with  us.” 

“ But  to  what  purpose  or  end,  gentlemen  ? ” said 
Butler.  “ I hope  you  will  be  so  civil  as  to  explain 
that  to  me  ? ” 

“ You  shall  know  that  in  good  time.  Come  along 
— for  come  you  must,  by  force  or  fair  means ; and 
I warn  you  to  look  neither  to  the  right  hand  nor 
the  left,  and  to  take  no  notice  of  any  man’s  face, 
but  consider  all  that  is  passing  before  you  as  a 
dream.” 

“ I would  it  were  a dream  I could  awaken  from,” 
said  Butler  to  himself;  but  having  no  means  to 
oppose  the  violence  with  which  he  was  threatened, 
he  was  compelled  to  turn  round  and  march  in  front 
of  the  rioters,  two  men  partly  supporting  and  partly 
holding  him.  During  this  parley  the  insurgents 
had  made  themselves  masters  of  the  West  Port, 
rushing  upon  the  Waiters,  (so  the  people  were  called 
who  had  the  charge  of  the  gates,)  and  possessing 


76 


TALES  OE  MY  LANDLORD. 


themselves  of  the  keys,  They  bolted  and  barred 
the  folding  doors,  and  commanded  the  person,  whose 
duty  it  usually  was,  to  secure  the  wicket,  of  which 
they  did  not  understand  the  fastenings.  The  man, 
terrified  at  an  incident  so  totally  unexpected,  was 
unable  to  perform  his  usual  office,  and  gave  the 
matter  up,  after  several  attempts.  The  rioters,  who 
seemed  to  have  come  prepared  for  every  emergency, 
called  for  torches,  by  the  light  of  which  they  nailed 
up  the  wicket  with  long,  nails,  which,  it  appeared 
probable,  they  had  provided  on  purpose. 

While  this  was  going  on,  Butler  could  not,  even 
if  he  had  been  willing,  avoid  making  remarks  on 
the  individuals  who  seemed  to  lead  this  singular 
mob.  The  tdrch-light,  while  it  fell  on  their  forms, 
and  left  him  in  the  shade,  gave  him  an  opportunity 
to  do  so  without  their  observing  him.  Several  of 
those  who  appeared  most  active  were  dressed  in 
sailors’  jackets,  trowsers,  and  sea-caps ; others  in 
large  loose-bodied  great-coats,  and  slouched  hats ; 
and  there  were  several  who,  judging  from  their 
dress,  should  have  been  called  women,  whose  rough 
deep  voices,  uncommon  size,  and  masculine  deport- 
ment and  mode  of  walking,  forbade  them  being  so 
interpreted.  They  moved  as  if  by  some  well-con- 
certed plan  of  arrangement.  They  had  signals  by 
which  they  knew,  and  nicknames  by  which  they 
distinguished  each  other.  Butler  remarked,  that 
the  name  of  Wildfire  was  used  among  them,  to 
which  one  stoutTAmazon  seamedJaLrepiv. 

The  rioters  left  a small  party  to  observe  the  West 
Port,  and  directed  the  Waiters,  as  they  valued  their 
lives,  to  remain  within  their  lodge,  and  make  no 
attempt  for  that  night  to  repossess  themselves  of  the 
gate.  They  then  moved  with  rapidity  along  the 


THE  HEART  OE  MID-LOTHIAN. 


11 


low  street  called  the  Cowgate,  the  mob  of  the  city 
everywhere  rising  at  the  sound  of  their  drum,  and 
joining  them.  When  the  multitude  arrived  at  the 
Cowgate  Port,  they  secured  it  with  as  little  oppo- 
sition as  the  former,  made  it  fast,  and  left  a small 
party  to  observe  it.  It  was  afterwards  remarked, 
as  a striking  instance  of  prudence  and  precaution, 
singularly  combined  with  audacity,  that  the  parties 
left  to  guard  those  gates  did  not  remain  stationary 
on  their  posts,  but  flitted  to  and  fro,  keeping  so 
near  the  gates  as  to  see  that  no  efforts  were  made 
to  open  them,  yet  not  remaining  so  long  as  to  have 
their  persons  closely  observed.  The  mob,  at  first 
only  about  one  hundred  strong,  now  amounted  to 
thousands,  and  were  increasing  every  moment. 
They  divided  themselves  so  as  to  ascend  with  more 
speed  the  various  narrow  lanes  which  lead  up  from 
the  Cowgate  to  the  High  Street ; and  still  beating 
to  arms  as  they  went,  and  calling  on  all  true  Scots- 
men to  join  them,  they  now  filled  the  principal 
street  of  the  city. 

The  Netherbow  Port  might  be  called  the  Tem- 
ple-bar of  Edinburgh,  as,  intersecting  the  High 
Street  at  its  termination,  it  divided  Edinburgh,  pro- 
perly so  called,  from  the  suburb  named  the  Canon- 
gate,  as  Temple-bar  separates  London  from  West- 
minster. It  was  of  the  utmost  importance  to  the 
rioters  to  possess  themselves  of  this  pass,  because 
there  was  quartered  in  the  Canongate  at  that  time 
a regiment  of  infantry,  commanded  by  Colonel 
Moyle,  which  might  have  occupied  the  city  by 
advancing  through  this  gate,  and  would  possess 
the  powrer  of  totally  defeating  their  purpose.  The 
leaders  therefore  hastened  to  the  Netherbow  Port, 
which  they  secured  in  the  same  manner,  and  with 


7S 


TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 


as  little  trouble,  as  the  other  gates,  leaving  a party 
to  watch  it,  strong  in  proportion  to  the  importance 
of  the  post. 

The  next  object  of  these  hardy  insurgents  was 
at  once  to  disarm  the  City  Guard,  and  to  procure 
arms  for  themselves ; for  scarce  any  weapons  but 
staves  and  bludgeons  had  been  yet  seen  among 
them.  The  Guard-house  was  a long,  low,  ugly 
building,  (removed  in  1787,)  which  to  a fanciful 
imagination  might  have  suggested  the  idea  of  a long 
black  snail  crawling  up  the  middle  of  the  High 
Street,  and  deforming  its  beautiful  esplanade.  This 
formidable  insurrection  had  been  so  unexpected, 
that  there  were  no  more  than  the  ordinary  ser- 
geant’s guard  of  the  city-corps  upon  duty;  even 
these  were  without  any  supply  of  powder  and  ball ; 
and  sensible  enough  what  had  raised  the  storm,  and 
which  way  it  was  rolling,  could  hardly  be  supposed 
very  desirous  to  expose  themselves  by  a valiant 
defence  to  the  animosity  of  so  numerous  and  des- 
perate a mob,  to  whom  they  were  on  the  present 
occasion  much  more  than  usually  obnoxious. 

There  was  a sentinel  upon  guard,  who  (that  one 
town-guard  soldier  might  do  his  duty  on  that  event- 
ful evening)  presented  his  piece,  and  desired  the 
foremost  of  the  rioters  to  stand  off.  The  young 
amazon,  whom  Butler  had  observed  particularly 
active,  sprung  upon  the  soldier,  seized  his  musket, 
and  after  a struggle  succeeded  in  wrenching  it  from 
him,  and  throwing  him  down  on  the  causeway. 
X)ne  or  two  soldiers,  who  endeavoured  to  turn  out 
to  the  support  of  their  sentinel,  were  in  the  same 
manner  seized  and  disarmed,  and  the  mob  without 
difficulty  possessed  themselves  of  the  Guard-house, 
disarming  and  turning  out  of  doors  the  rest  of  the 


On  possessing  t 
act  of  the  multitude 
which  they  supposed  an 
to  the  garrison  in  the 
they  now  silenced  their  ow 
a young  fellow,  son  to  the 
whom  they  had  forced  u; 
next  business  was  to  distribu 
of  the  rioters  the  guns, 
berds,  and  battle  or  Lochaber 
riod  the  principal  rioters  had 
the  ultimate  object  of  the 
which  all  knew,  but  none 
ever,  having  accomplished  a 
of  their  design,  they  raised 
“ Porteous  ! Porteous  ! To  the 
Tolbooth ! ” 

They  proceeded  with  the  same 
the  object  seemed  to  be  nearly  in  their 
they  had  done  hitherto  when  success  was  more 
bious.  A strong  party  of  the  rioters,  drawn 
front  of  the  Luckenbooths,  and  facing  down 
street,  prevented  all  access  from  the  eastward, 
the  west  end  of  the  defile  formed  by  the  Lucken- 
booths was  secured  in  the  same  manner;  so  that 
the  Tolbooth  was  completely  surrounded,  and  those 
who  undertook  the  task  of  breaking  it  open  effec- 
tually secured  against  the  risk  of  interruption. 


ORD. 


ile,  had  taken  the 
with  the  purpose 
e the  rioters.  The 
ades,  were  applied 
le  chance  of  their 
e craftsmen,  where 
so  obnoxious.  Mr. 
t for  the  city,  volun- 
carrying  a verbal  mes- 
; to  Colonel  Moyle,  the 
lying  in  the  Canongate, 
the  Netherbow  PortT  an d 
wgjhe^^muli.  But  Mr. 
arge  himself  with  any  writ- 
on  his  person  by  an  en- 
ve  cost  him  his  life ; and  the 
tion  was,  that  Colonel  Moyle, 
requisition  from  the  civil  au- 
fate  of  Porteous  before  his 
the  severe  construction  put 
dings  of  military  men  acting/ 
ibili  ty,  declined  to_encounter 
Provost’s  verbal  communi- 


one  messenger  was  dispatched  by  dif- 
s to  the  Castle,  to  require  the  command- 
to  march  down  his  troops,  to  fire  a few 
non-shot,  or  even  to  throw  a shell  among  the 
ob,  for  the  purpose  of  clearing  the  streets.  But 
o strict  and  watchful  were  the  various  patrols 
whom  the  rioters  had  established  in  different  parts 
of  the  street,  that  none  of  the  emissaries  of  the 
magistrates  could  reach  the  gate  of  the  Castle. 
They  were,  however,  turned  back  without  either 
injury  or  insult,  and  with  nothing  more  of  menace 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTIIIAN. 


81 


than  was  necessary  to  deter  them  from  again  at- 
tempting to  accomplish  their  errand. 

The  same  vigilance  was  used  to  prevent  every- 
body of  the  higher,  and  those  which,  in  this  case, 
might  be  deemed  the  more  suspicious  orders  of  so- 
ciety, from  appearing  in  the  street,  and  observing 
the  movements,  or  distinguishing  the  persons,  of 
the  rioters.  Every  person  in  the  garb  of  a gentle- 
man was  stopped  by  small  parties  of  two  or  three 
of  the  mob,  who  partly  exhorted,  partly  required  of 
them,  that  they  should  return  to  the  place  from 
whence  they  came.  Many  a quadrille  table  was 
spoiled  that  memorable  evening;  for  the  sedan- 
chairs  of  ladies,  even  of  the  highest  rank,  were  in- 
terrupted in  their  passage  from  one  point  to  an- 
other, in  despite  of  the  laced  footmen  and  blazing 
flambeaux.  This  was  uniformly  done  with  a defer- 
ence and  attention  to  the  feelings  of  the  terrified 
females,  which  could  hardly  have  been  expected 
from  the  videttes  of  a mob  so  desperate.  Those 
who  stopped  the  chair  usually  made  the  excuse,  that 
there  was  much  disturbance  on  the  streets,  and  that 
it  was  absolutely  necessary  for  the  lady’s  safety 
that  the  chair  should  turn  back.  They  offered 
themselves  to  escort  the  vehicles  which  they  had 
thus  interrupted  in  their  progress,  from  the  appre- 
hension, probably,  that  some  of  those  who  had  cas- 
ually united  themselves  to  the  riot  might  disgrace 
their  systematic  and  determined  plan  of  vengeance, 
by  those  acts  of  general  insult  and  license  which 
are  common  on  similar  occasions. 

Persons  are  yet  living  who  remember  to  have 
heard  from  the  mouths  of  ladies  thus  interrupted 
on  their  journey  in  the  manner  we  have  described, 
that  they  were  escorted  to  their  lodgings  by  the 


82 


TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 


young  men  who  stopped  them,  and  even  handed  out 
of  their  chairs,  with  a polite  attention  far  beyond 
what  was  consistent  with  their  dress,  which  was 
apparently  that  of  journeymen  mechanics.1  It 
seemed  as  if  the  conspirators,  like  those  who  assas- 
sinated the  Cardinal  Beatoun  in  former  days,  had 
entertained  the  opinion,  that  the  work  about  which 
they  went  was  a judgment  of  Heaven,  which, 
though  unsanctioned  by  the  usual  authorities,  ought 
to  be  proceeded  in  with  order  and  gravity. 

While  their  outposts  continued  thus  vigilant,  and 
suffered  themselves  neither  from  fear  nor  curiosity 
to  neglect  that  part  of  the  duty  assigned  to  them, 
and  while  the  main  guards  to  the  east  and  west 
secured  them  against  interruption,  a select  body  of 
the  rioters  thundered  at  the  door  of  the  jail,  and 
demanded  instant  admission.  No  one  answered, 
for  the  outer  keeper  had  prudently  made  his  escape 
with  the  keys  at  the  commencement  of  the  riot, 
and  was  nowhere  to  be  found.  The  door  was  in- 
stantly assailed  with  sledge-hammers,  iron-crows, 
and  the  coulters  of  ploughs,  ready  provided  for  the 
purpose,  with  which  they  prized,  heaved,  and  bat- 
tered for  some  time  with  little  effect ; for,  being  of 
double  oak  planks,  clenched,  both  end-long  and 
athwart,  with  broad-headed  nails,  the  door  was  so 
secured  as  to  yield  to  no  means  of  forcing,  with- 
out the  expenditure  of  much  time.  The  rioters, 
however,  appeared  determined  to  gain  admittance. 
Gang  after  gang  relieved  each  other  at  the  exercise, 

1 A near  relation  of  the  author’s  used  to  tell  of  having  been 
stopped  by  the  rioters,  and  escorted  home  in  the  manner  de- 
scribed. On  reaching  her  own  home,  one  of  her  attendants,  in 
appearance  a baxter , i.  e a baker’s  lad,  handed  her  out  of  her 
chair,  and  took  leave  with  a bow,  which,  in  the  lady’s  opinion, 
argued  breeding  that  could  hardly  be  learned  beside  the  oven. 


THE  HEART  OE  MID-LOTIIIAN. 


83 


for,  of  course,  only  a few  could  work  at  a time ; 
but  gang  after  gang  retired,  exhausted  with  their 
violent  exertions,  without  making  much  progress 
in  forcing  the  prison-door.  Butler  had  been  led  up 
near  to  this  the  principal  scene  of  action ; so  near, 
indeed,  that  he  was  almost  deafened  by  the  unceas- 
ing clang  of  the  heavy  fore-hammers  against  the 
iron-bound  portals  of  the  prison.  He  began  to  en- 
tertain hopes,  as  the  task  seemed  protracted,  that 
the  populace  might  give  it  over  in  despair,  or  that 
some  rescue  might  arrive  to  disperse  them.  There 
was  a moment  at  which  the  latter  seemed  probable. 

The  magistrates,  having  assembled  their  officers, 
and  some  of  the  citizens  who  were  willing  to  haz- 
ard themselves  for  the  public  tranquillity,  now 
sallied  forth  from  the  tavern  where  they  held  their 
sitting,  and  approached  the  point  of  danger.  Their 
officers  went  before  them  with  links  and  torches, 
with  a herald  to  read  the  riot  act,  if  necessary. 
They  easily  drove  before  them  the  outposts  and  vi- 
dettes  of  the  rioters  ; but  when  they  approached 
the  line  of  guard  which  the  mob,  or  rather,  we 
should  say,  the  conspirators,  had  drawn  across  the 
street  in  the  front  of  the  Luckenbooths,  they  were 
received  with  an  unintermitted  volley  of  stones, 
and,  on  their  nearer  approach,  the  pikes,  bayonets, 
and  Lochaber  axes,  of  which  the  populace  had  pos- 
sessed themselves,  were  presented  against  them. 
One  of  their  ordinary  officers,  a strong  resolute  fel- 
low, went  forward,  seized  a rioter,  and  took  from 
him  a musket;  but,  being  unsupported,  he  was 
instantly  thrown  on  his  back  in  the  street,  and  dis- 
armed in  his  turn.  The  officer  was  too  happy  to  be 
permitted  to  rise  and  run  away  without  receiving 
any  farther  injury;  which  afforded  another  remark- 


84 


TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 


able  instance  of  the  mode  in  which  these  men  had 
united  a sort  of  moderation  towards  all  others,  with 
the  most  inflexible  inveteracy  against  the  object  of 
their  resentment.  The  magistrates,  after  vain  at- 
tempts to  make  themselves  heard  and  obeyed,  pos- 
sessing no  means  of  enforcing  their  authority,  were 
constrained  to  abandon  the  field  to  the  rioters,  and 
retreat  in  all  speed  from  the  showers  of  missiles 
that  whistled  around  their  ears. 

The  passive  resistance  of  the  Tolbooth-gate  pro- 
mised to  do  more  to  baffle  the  purpose  of  the  mob 
than  the  active  interference  of  the  magistrates.  The 
heavy  sledge-hammers  continued  to  din  against 
it  without  intermission,  and  with  a noise  which, 
echoed  from  the  lofty  buildings  around  the  spot, 
seemed  enough  to  have  alarmed  the  garrison  in  the 
Castle.  It  was  circulated  among  the  rioters,  that 
the  troops  would  march  down  to  disperse  them, 
unless  they  could  execute  their  purpose  without 
loss  of  time ; or  that,  even  without  quitting  the  for- 
tress, the  garrison  might  obtain  the  same  end  by 
throwing  a bomb  or  two  upon  the  street. 

Urged  by  such  motives  for  apprehension,  they 
eagerly  relieved  each  other  at  the  labour  of  assail- 
ing the  Tolbooth  door : yet  such  was  its  strength, 
that  it  still  defied  their  efforts.  At  length,  a voice 
was  heard  to  pronounce  the  words,  “Try  it  with 
fire.”  The  rioters,  with  an  unanimous  shout,  called 
for  combustibles,  and  as  all  their  wishes  seemed  to 
be  instantly  supplied,  they  were  soon  in  possession 
of  two  or  three  empty  tar-barrels.  A huge  red 
glaring  bonfire  speedily  arose  close  to  the  door  of 
the  prison,  sending  up  a tall  column  of  smoke  and 
flame  against  its  antique  turrets  and  strongly-grated 
windows,  and  illuminating  the  ferocious  and  wild 


THE  HEART  OE  MID-LOTI1IAN. 


85 


gestures  of  the  rioters  who  surrounded  the  place, 
as  well  as  the  pale  and  anxious  groups  of  those, 
who,  from  windows  in  the  vicinage,  watched  the 
progress  of  this  alarming  scene.  The  mob  fed  the 
fire  with  whatever  they  could  find  fit  for  the  pur- 
pose. The  flames  roared  and  crackled  among  the 
heaps  of  nourishment  piled  on  the  fire,  and  a ter- 
rible shout  soon  announced  that  the  door  had 
kindled,  and  was  in  the  act  of  being  destroyed. 
The  fire  was  suffered  to  decay,  but,  long  ere  it  was 
quite  extinguished,  the  most  forward  of  the  rioters 
rushed,  in  their  impatience,  one  after  another,  over 
its  yet  smouldering  remains.  Thick  showers  of 
sparkles  rose  high  in  the  air,  ‘as  man  after  man 
bounded  over  the  glowing  embers,  and  disturbed 
them  in  their  passage.  It  was  now  obvious  to  But- 
ler, and  all  others  who  were  present,  that  the  rioters 
would  be  instantly  in  possession  of  their  victim,  and 
have  it  in  their  power  to  work  their  pleasure  upon 
him,  whatever  that  might  be.1 


1 Note  IT.— The  Old  Tolbooth. 


CHAPTEK  VII. 


The  evil  you  teach  us,  we  will  execute ; and  it  shall  go  hard  but 
we  will  better  the  instruction. 

Merchant  of  Venice . 

The  unhappy  object  of  this  remarkable  disturb- 
ance had  been  that  day  delivered  from  the  appre- 
hension of  public  execution,  and  his  joy  was  the 
greater,  as  he  had  some  reason  to  question  whether 
government  would  have  run  the  risk  of  unpopular- 
ity by  interfering  in  his  favour,  after  he  had  been 
legally  convicted  by  the  verdict  of  a jury,  of  a crime 
so  very  obnoxious.  Relieved  from  this  doubtful 
state  of  mind,  his  heart  was  merry  within  him,  and 
he  thought,  in  the  emphatic  words  of  Scripture  on 
a similar  occasion,  that  surely  the  bitterness  of 
death  was  past.  Some  of  his  friends,  however,  who 
had  watched  the  manner  and  behaviour  of  the  crowd 
when  they  were  made  acquainted  with  the  reprieve, 
were  of  a different  opinion.  They  augured,  from 
the  unusual  sternness  and  silence  with  which  they 
bore  their  disappointment,  that  the  populace  nour- 
ished some  scheme  of  sudden  and  desperate  ven- 
geance ; and  they  advised  Porteous  to  lose  no  time 
in  petitioning  the  proper  authorities,  that  he  might 
be  conveyed  to  the  Castle  under  a sufficient  guard, 
to  remain  there  in  security  until  his  ultimate  fate 
should  be  determined.  Habituated,  however,  by 
his  office,  to  overawe  the  rabble  of  the  city,  Por- 
teous could  not  suspect  them  of  an  attempt  so  au- 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN, 


87 


dacious  as  to  storm  a strong  and  defensible  prison ; 
and,  despising  the  advice  by  which  he  might  have 
been  saved,  he  spent  the  afternoon  of  the  eventful 
day  in  giving  an  entertainment  to  some  friends  who 
visited  him  in  jail,  several  of  whom,  by  the  indul- 
gence of  the  Captain  of  the  Tolbooth,  with  whom 
he  had  an  old  intimacy,  arising  from  their  official 
connexion,  were  even  permitted  to  remain  to  sup- 
per with  him,  though  contrary  to  the  rules  of  the 
jail. 

It  was,  therefore,  in  the  hour  of  unalloyed  mirth, 
when  this  unfortunate  wretch  was  “ full  of  bread,” 
hot  with  wine,  and  high  in  mistimed  and  ill-grounded 
confidence,  and  alas ! with  all  his  sins  full  blown, 
when  the  first  distant  shouts  of  the  rioters  mingled 
with  the  song  of  merriment  and  intemperance.  The 
hurried  call  of  the  jailor  to  the  guests,  requiring 
them  instantly  to  depart,  and  his  yet  more  hasty 
intimation  that  a dreadful  and  determined  mob  had 
possessed  themselves  of  the  city  gates  and  guard- 
house, were  the  first  explanation  of  these  fearful 
clamours. 

Porteous  might,  however,  have  eluded  the  fury 
from  which  the  force  of  authority  could  not  protect 
him,  had  he  thought  of  slipping  on  some  disguise, 
and  leaving  the  prison  along  with  his  guests.  It  is 
probable  that  the  jailor  might  have  connived  at  his 
escape,  or  even  that,  in  the  hurry  of  this  alarming 
contingency,  he  might  not  have  observed  it.  But 
Porteous  and  his  friends  alike  wanted  presence  of 
mind  to  suggest  or  execute  such  a plan  of  escape. 
The  former  hastily  fled  from  a place  where  their 
own  safety  seemed  compromised,  and  the  latter, 
in  a state  resembling  stupefaction,  awaited  in  his 
apartment  the  termination  of  the  enterprise  of  the 


TALES  OE  MY  LANDLORD. 


rioters.  The  cessation  of  the  clang  of  the  instru- 
ments with  which  they  had  at  first  attempted  to 
force  the  door,  gave  him  momentary  relief.  The 
flattering  hopes,  that  the  military  had  marched  into 
the  city,  either  from  the  Castle  or  from  the  suburbs, 
and  that  the  rioters  were  intimidated  and  dispers- 
ing, were  soon  destroyed  by  the  broad  and  glaring 
light  of  the  flames,  which,  illuminating  through  the 
grated  window  every  corner  of  his  apartment,  plainly 
showed  that  the  mob,  determined  on  their  fatal 
purpose,  had  adopted  a means  of  forcing  entrance 
equally  desperate  and  certain. 

The  sudden  glare  of  light  suggested  to  the  stu- 
pified  and  astonished  object  of  popular  hatred  the 
possibility  of  concealment  or  escape.  To  rush  to 
the  chimney,  to  ascend  it  at  the  risk  of  suffocation, 
were  the  only  means  which  seem  to  have  occurred 
to  him ; but  his  progress  was  speedily  stopped  by 
one  of  those  iron  gratings,  which  are,  for  the  sake 
of  security,  usually  placed  across  the  vents  of  build- 
ings designed  for  imprisonment.  The  bars,  how- 
ever, which  impeded  his  farther  progress,  served 
to  support  him  in  the  situation  which  he  had  gained, 
and  he  seized  them  with  the  tenacious  grasp  of 
one  who  esteemed  himself  clinging  to  his  last  hope  , 
of  existence.  The  lurid  light,  which  had  filled  the 
apartment,  lowered  and  died  away  ; the  sound  of 
shouts  was  heard  within  the  walls,  and  on  the  nar- 
row and  winding  stair,  which,  cased  within  one  of 
the  turrets,  gave  access  to  the  upper  apartments  of 
the  prison.  The  huzza  of  the  rioters  was  answered 
by  a shout  wild  and  desperate  as  their  own,  the 
cry,  namely,  of  the  imprisoned  felons,  who,  expect- 
ing to  be  liberated  in  the  general  confusion,  wel- 
comed the  mob  as  their  deliverers.  By  some  of 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN, 


89 


these  the  apartment  of  Porteous  was  pointed  out 
to  his  enemies.  The  obstacle  of  the  lock  and  bolts 
was  soon  overcome,  and  from  his  hiding-place  the 
unfortunate  man  heard  his  enemies  search  every 
corner  of  the  apartment,  with  oaths  and  maledic- 
tions, which  would  but  shock  the  reader  if  we 
recorded  them,  but  which  served  to  prove,  could  it 
have  admitted  of  doubt,  the  settled  purpose  of  soul 
with  which  they  sought  his  destruction. 

A place  of  concealment  so  obvious  to  suspicion 
and  scrutiny  as  that  which  Porteous  had  chosen, 
could  not  long  screen  him  from  detection.  He  was 
dragged  from  his  lurking-place,  with  a violence  which 
seemed  to  argue  an  intention  to  put  him  to  death 
on  the  spot.  More  than  one  weapon  was  directed 
towards  him,  when  one  of  the  rioters,  the  same 
whose  female  disguise  had  been  particularly  noticed 
by  Butler,  interfered  in  an  authoritative  tone.  “ Are 
ye  mad  ? ” he  said,  “ or  would  ye  execute  an  act  of  jus- 
tice as  if  it  were  a crime  and  a cruelty  ? This  sacri- 
fice will  lose  half  its  savour  if  we  do  not  offer  it  at 
the  very  horns  of  the  altar.  We  will  have  him  die 
where  a murderer  should  die,  on  the  common  gib- 
bet— We  will  have  him  die  where  he  spilled  the 
blood  of  so  many  innocents  I ” 

A loud  shout  of  applause  followed  the  proposal, 
and  the  cry,  “To  the  gallows  with  the  murderer!  — 
To  the  Grassmarket  with  him  I ” echoed  on  all  hands. 

“ Let  no  man  hurt  him/'  continued  the  speaker ; 
“ let  him  make  his  peace  with  God,  if  he  can ; we 
will  not  kill  both  his  soul  and  body.” 

“ What  time  did  he  give  better  folk  for  preparing 
their  account  ? ” answered  several  voices.  “ Let  us 
mete  to  him  with  the  same  measure  he  measured  to 
them” 


90 


TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD, 


But  the  opinion  of  the  spokesman  better  suited 
the  temper  of  those  he  addressed,  a temper  rather 
stubborn  than  impetuous,  sedate  though  ferocious, 
and  desirous  of  colouring  their  cruel  and  revengeful 
action  with  a show  of  justice  and  moderation. 

For  an  instant  this  man  quitted  the  prisoner, 
whom  he  consigned  to  a selected  guard,  with  in- 
structions to  permit  him  to  give  his  money  and 
property  to  whomsoever  he  pleased.  A person  con- 
fined in  the*jail  for  debt  received  this  last  deposit 
from  the  trembling  hand  of  the  victim,  who  was  at 
the  same  time  permitted  to  make  some  other  brief 
arrangements  to  meet  his  approaching  fate.  The 
felons,  and  all  others  who  wished  to  leave  the  jail, 
were  now  at  full  liberty  to  do  so ; not  that  their 
liberation  made  any  part  of  the  settled  purpose  of 
the  rioters,  but  it  followed  as  almost  a necessary 
consequence  of  forcing  the  jail  doors.  With  wild* 
cries  of  jubilee  they  joined  the  mob,  or  disappeared 
among  the  narrow  lanes  to  seek  out  the  hidden  re- 
ceptacles of  vice  and  infamy,  where  they  were  accus- 
tomed to  lurk  and  conceal  themselves  from  justice. 

Two  persons,  a man  about  fifty  years  old,  and  a 
girl  about  eighteen,  were  all  who  continued  within 
the  fatal  walls,  excepting  two  or  three  debtors,  who  ; 
probably  saw  no  advantage  in  attempting  their  es- 
cape. The  persons  we  have  mentioned  remained  in 
the  strong-room  of  the  prison,  now  deserted  by  all 
others.  One  of  their  late  companions  in  misfortune 
called  out  to  the  man  to  make  his  escape,  in  the  tone  | 
of  an  acquaintance  “ Rin  for  it,  Ratcliffe  — the 
road’s  clear.” 

“ It  may  be  sae,  Willie,”  answered  Ratcliffe,  com- 
posedly,  “but  I have  taen  a fancy  to  leave  aff  trade,  j 
and  set  up  for  an  honest  man/' 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN. 


9* 


“ Stay  there,  and  be  hanged,  then,  for  a donnard 
auld  deevil ! ” said  the  other,  and  ran  down  the 
prison-stair.  ■ 

The  person  in  female  attire  whom  we  have  dis- 
tinguished as  one  of  the  most  active  rioters,  was 
about  the  same  time  at  the  ear  of  the  young  woman. 
“ Flee,  Effie,  flee  ! ” was  all  he  had  time  to  whisper, 
She  turned  towards  him  an  eye  of  mingled  fear, 
affection,  and  upbraiding,  all  contending  with  a sort 
of  stupified  surprise.  He  again  repeated,  “ Flee, 
Effie,  flee,  for  the  sake  of  all  that’s  good  and  dear 
to  you  ! ” Again  she  gazed  on  him,  but  was  unable 
to  answer.  A loud  noise  was  now  heard,  and  the 
name  of  Madge  Wildfire  was  repeatedly  called  from 
the  bottomToFtRe  staircase. 

•‘I  am  coming, — I am  coming”  said  the  person 
who  answered  to  that  appellative , and  then  reiter- 
ating hastily,  w For  God's  sake  — for  your  own  sake 
— for  my  sake,  flee,  or  they'll  take  your  life ! ” he 
left  the  strong-room. 

The  girl  gazed  after  him  for  a moment,  and  then, 
faintly  muttering,  u Better  tyne  life,  since  tint  is 
gude  fame,”  she  sunlTlierTi^  hancfTan^T 

remained,  seemingly,  unconscious  as  a statue,  of  the 
noise  and  tumult  which  passed  around  her 

That  tumult  was  now  transferred  from  the  inside 
to  the  outside  of  the  Tolbooth.  The  mob  had 
brought  their  destined  victim  forth,  and  were  about 
to  conduct  him  to  the  common  place  of  execution, 
which  they  had  fixed  as  the  scene  of  his  death,  The 
leader,  whom  they  distinguished  by  the  name  of 
Madge  Wildfire,  had  been  summoned  to  assist  at 
the  procession  by  the  impatient  shouts  of  his 
confederates. 

“ I will  ensure  you  five  hundred  pounds,”  said  the 


t)2 


TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD, 


unhappy  man,  grasping  Wildfire  s hand,  — “ five  hun* 
dred  pounds  for  to  save  my  life.” 

The  other  answered  in  the  same  under-tone,  and 
returning  his  grasp  with  one  equally  convulsive. 

“ Five  hundred- weight  of  coined  gold  should  not 
save  you.  — Remember  Wilson  1 ” 

A deep  pause  of  a minute  ensued,  when  Wildfire 
added,  in  a more  composed  tone,  “ Make  your  peace 
with  Heaven.  — Where  is  the  clergyman  ? ” 

Butler,  who,  in  great  terror  and  anxiety,  had  been 
detained  within  a few  yards  of  the  Tolbooth  door,  to 
wait  the  event  of  the  search  after  Porteous,  was  now 
brought  forward,  and  commanded  to  walk  by  the 
prisoner's  side,  and  to  prepare  him  for  immediate 
death.  His  answer  was  a supplication  that  the 
rioters  would  consider  what  they  did,  “ You  are  j 
neither  judges  nor  jury,”  said  he.  “ You  cannot 
have,  by  the  laws  of  God  or  man,  power  to  take  , 
away  the  life  of  a human  creature,  however  deserv-  ! 
ing  he  may  be  of  death.  If  it  is  murder  even  in  a 
lawful  magistrate  to  execute  an  offender  otherwise 
than  in  the  place,  time,  and  manner  which  the ; 
judges1  sentence  prescribes,  what  must  it  be  in  you, 
who  have  no  warrant  for  interference  but  your  own  j 
wills  ? In  the  name  of  Him  who  is  all  mercy,  show' 
mercy  to  this  unhappy  man,  and  do  not  dip  your! 
hands  in  his  blood,  nor  rush  into  the  very  crime 
which  you  are  desirous  of  avenging ! ” 

“ Cut  your  sermon  short  — you  are  not  in  your 
pulpit,”  answered  one  of  the  rioters. 

“ If  we  hear  more  of  your  clavers,”  said  another, 
“we  are  like  to  hang  you  up  beside  him/’ 

“Peace  — hush!"  said  Wildfire.  “Do  the  good! 
man  no  harm  — he  discharges  his  conscience,  and  I 
like  him  the  better.” 


THE  HEART  OE  MID-LOTHIAN. 


93 


He  then  addressed  Butler.  “ Now,  sir,  we  have 
patiently  heard  you,  and  we  just  wish  you  to  under- 
stand, in  the  way  of  answer,  that  you  may  as  well 
argue  to  the  ashler-work  and  iron-stanchels  of  the 
Tolbooth  as  think  to  change  our  purpose  — Blood 
must  have  blood.  We  have  sworn  to  each  other 
by  the  deepest  oaths  ever  were  pledged,  that 
Porteous  shall  die  the  death  he  deserves  so  richly ; 
therefore,  speak  no  more  to  us,  but  prepare  him 
for  death  as  well  as  the  briefness  of  his  change 
will  permit.” 

They  had  suffered  the  unfortunate  Porteous  to 
put  on  his  night-gown  and  slippers,  as  he  had 
thrown  off  his  coat  and  shoes,  in  order  to  facilitate 
his  attempted  escape  up  the  chimney.  In  this  garb 
he  was  now  mounted  on  the  hands  of  two  of  the 
rioters,  clasped  together,  so  as  to  form  what  is 
called  in  Scotland,  “ The  King’s  Cushion.”  Butler 
was  placed  close  to  his  side,  and  repeatedly  urged 
to  perform  a duty  always  the  most  painful  which 
can  be  imposed  on  a clergyman  deserving  of  the 
name,  and  now  rendered  more  so  by  the  peculiar 
and  horrid  circumstances  of  the  criminal’s  case. 
Porteous  at  first  uttered  some  supplications  for 
mercy,  but  when  he  found  that  there  was  no 
chance  that  these  would  be  attended  to,  his  mili- 
tary education,  and  the  natural  stubbornness  of  his 
disposition,  combined  to  support  his  spirits. 

“Are  you  prepared  for  this  dreadful  end?”  said 
Butler,  in  a faltering  voice.  “ 0 turn  to  Him,  in 
whose  eyes  time  and  space  have  no  existence,  and 
to  whom  a few  minutes  are  as  a lifetime,  and  a 
lifetime  as  a minute.” 

“ I believe  I know  what  you  would  say,”  answered 
Porteous  sullenly.  “ I was  bred  a soldier ; if  they 


94 


TALES  OE  MY  LANDLORD. 


will  murder  me  without  time,  let  my  sins  as  well 
as  my  blood  lie  at  their  door.” 

“Who  was  it,”  said  the  stern  voice  of  Wildfire, 
“that  said  to  Wilson  at  this  very  spot,  when  he 
could  not  pray,  owing  to  the  galling  agony  of  his 
fetters,  that  his  pains  would  soon  be  over  ? — I say 
to  you  to  take  your  own  tale  home ; and  if  you 
cannot  profit  by  the  good  man’s  lessons,  blame  not 
them  that  are  still  more  merciful  to  you  than  you 
were  to  others.” 

The  procession  now  moved  forward  with  a slow 
and  determined  pace.  It  was  enlightened  by  many 
blazing  links  and  torches ; for  the  actors  of  this 
work  were  so  far  from  affecting  any  secrecy  on  the 
occasion,  that  they  seemed  even  to  court  observa- 
tion. Their  principal  leaders  kept  • close  to  the 
person  of  the  prisoner,  whose  pallid  yet  stubborn 
features  were  seen  distinctly  by  the  torch-light,  as 
his  person  was  raised  considerably  above  the  con- 
course which  thronged  around  him.  Those  who 
bore  swords,  muskets,  and  battle-axes,  marched  on 
each  side,  as  if  forming  a regular  guard  to  the  pro- 
cession. The  windows,  as  they  went  along,  were 
filled  with  the  inhabitants,  whose  slumbers  had  j 
been  broken  by  this  unusual  disturbance.  Some  of  \ 
the  spectators  muttered  accents  of  encouragement; 
but  in  general  they  were  so  much  appalled  by  a 
sight  so  strange  and  audacious,  that  they  looked  on 
with  a sort  of  stupified  astonishment.  No  one 
offered,  by  act  or  word,  the  slightest  interruption. 

The  rioters,  on  their  part,  continued  to  act  with 
the  same  air  of  deliberate  confidence  and  security 
which  had  marked  all  their  proceedings.  When 
the  object  of  their  resentment  dropped  one  of  his 
slippers,  they  stopped,  sought  for  it,  and  replaced  it 


THE  tfBBABY 
OF  THE 

OW3IW  OF  ILLiSQlS 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN. 


95 


upon  his  foot  with  great  deliberation. 5 As  they 
descended  the  Bow  towards  the  fatal  spot  where 
they  designed  to  complete  their  purpose,  it  was 
suggested  that  there  should  be  a rope  kept  in 
readiness.  For  this  purpose  the  booth  of  a man 
who  dealt  in  cordage  was  forced  open,  a coil  of  rope 
fit  for  their  purpose  was  selected  to  serve  as  a halter, 
and  the  dealer  next  morning  found  that  a guinea 
had  been  left  on  his  counter  in  exchange  ; so  anxious 
were  the  perpetrators  of  this  daring  action  to  show 
that  they  meditated  not  the  slightest  wrong  or  in- 
fraction of  law,  excepting  so  far  as  Porteous  was 
himself  concerned. 

Leading,  or  carrying  along  with  them,  in  this 
determined  and  regular  manner,  the  object  of  their 
vengeance,  they  at  length  reached  the  place  of  com- 
mon execution,  the  scene  of  his  crime,  and  destined 
spot  of  his  sufferings.  Several  of  the  rioters  (if  they 
should  not  rather  be  described  as  conspirators)  en- 
deavoured to  remove  the  stone  which  filled  up  the 
socket  in  which  the  end  of  the  fatal  tree  was  sunk 
when  it  was  erected  for  its  fatal . purpose ; others 
sought  for  the  means  of  constructing  a temporary 
gibbet,  the  place  in  which  the  gallows  itself  was 
deposited  being  reported  too  secure  to  be  forced, 
without  much  loss  of  time.  Butler  endeavoured  to 
avail  himself  of  the  delay  afforded  by  these  circum- 
stances, to  turn  the  people  from  their  desperate  de- 
sign. “For  God's  sake,"  he  exclaimed,  “remember 
it  is  the  image  of  your  Creator  which  you  are  about 
to  deface  in  the  person  of  this  unfortunate  man  f 

1 This  little  incident,  characteristic  of  the  extreme  composure  of 
this  extraordinary  mob,  was  witnessed  by  a lady,  who,  disturbed, 
like  others,  from  her  slumbers,  had  gone  to  the  window.  It  was 
told  to  the  author  by  the  lady's  daughter. 


96 


TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 


Wretched  as  he  is,  and  wicked  as  he  may  be,  he 
has  a share  in  every  promise  of  Scripture,  and  you 
cannot  destroy  him  in  impenitence  without  blotting 
his  name  from  the  Book  of  Life  — Do  not  destroy 
soul  and  body ; give  time  for  preparation/' ’ 

“What  time  had  they,”  returned  a stern  voice, 
“ whom  he  murdered  on  this  very  spot  ? — The 
laws  both  of  God  and  man  call  for  his  death.” 

“ But  what,  my  friends,”  insisted  Butler,  with  a 
generous  disregard  to  his  own  safety  — “ what  hath 
constituted  you  his  judges  ? ” 

“We  are  not  his  judges,”  replied  the  same  per- 
son ; “ he  has  been  already  judged  and  condemned 
by  lawful  authority.  We  are  those  whom  Heaven, 
and  our  righteous  anger,  have  stirred  up  to  execute 
judgment,  when  a corrupt  government  would  have 
protected  a murderer.” 

“I  am  none,”  said  the  unfortunate  Porteous ; 
“ that  which  you  charge  upon  me  fell  out  in  self- 
defence,  in  the  lawful  exercise  of  my  duty.” 

“ Away  with  him  — away  with  him  i ” was  the 
general  cry.  “ Why  do  you  trifle  away  time  in 
making  a gallows  ? — that  dyester’s  pole  is  good 
enough  for  the  homicide.” 

The  unhappy  man  was  forced  to  his  fate  with 
remorseless  rapidity  Butler,  separated  from  him 
by  the  press,  escaped  the  last  horrors  of  his  strug- 
gles. Unnoticed  by  those  who  had  hitherto  de- 
tained him  as  a prisoner,  he  fled  from  the  fatal  spot, 
without  much  caring  in  what  direction  his  course 
lay.  A loud  shout  proclaimed  the  stern  delight 
with  which  the  agents  of  this  deed  regarded  its 
completion.  Butler,  then,  at  the  opening  into  the 
low  street  called  the  Cowgate,  cast  back  a terrified 
glance,  and,  by  the  red  and  dusky  light  of  the 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN. 


97 


torches,  he  could  discern  a figure  wavering  and 
struggling  as  it  hung  suspended  above  the  heads  of 
the  multitude,  and  could  even  observe  men  striking 
at  it  with  their  Lochaber-axes  and  partisans.  The 
sight  was  of  a nature  to  double  his  horror,  and  to 
add  wings  to  his  flight. 

The  street  down  which  the  fugitive  ran  opens  to 
one  of  the  eastern  ports  or  gates  of  the  city.  But- 
ler did  not  stop  till  he  reached  it,  but  found  it  still 
shut.  He  waited  nearly  an  hour,  walking  up  and 
down  in  inexpressible  perturbation  of  mind.  At 
length  he  ventured  to  call  out,  and  rouse  the  atten- 
tion of  the  terrified  keepers  of  the  gate,  who  now 
found  themselves  at  liberty  to  resume  their  office 
without  interruption.  Butler  requested  them  to 
open  the  gate.  They  hesitated.  He  told  them  his 
name  and  occupation. 

“ He  is  a preacher,”  said  one ; “ I have  heard 
him  preach  in  Haddo’s-hole,” 

“ A fine  preaching  has  he  been  at  the  night,”  said 
another  ; “ but  maybe  least  said  is  sunest  mended.” 

Opening  then  the  wicket  of  the  main-gate,  the 
keepers  suffered  Butler  to  depart,  who  hastened  to 
carry  his  horror  and  fear  beyond  the  walls  of  Edin- 
burgh. His  first  purpose  was,  instantly  to  take  the 
road  homeward  ; but  other  fears  and  cares,  con- 
nected with  the  news  he  had  learned  in  that  re- 
markable day,  induced  him  to  linger  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood of  Edinburgh  until  daybreak.  More  than 
one  group  of  persons  passed  him  as  he  was  whil- 
ing away  the  hours  of  darkness  that  yet  remained, 
whom,  from  the  stifled  tones  of  their  discourse,  the 
unwonted  hour  when  they  travelled,  and  the  hasty 
pace  at  which  they  walked,  he  conjectured  to  have 
been  engaged  in  the  late  fatal  transaction. 


98 


TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 


Certain  it  was,  that  the  sudden  and  total  disper- 
sion of  the  rioters,  when  their  vindictive  purpose 
was  accomplished,  seemed  not  the  least  remarkabk 
feature  of  this  singular  affair.  In  general,  whatever 
may  be  the  impelling  motive  by  which  a mob  is 
at  first  raised,  the  attainment  of  their  object  has 
usually  been  only  found  to  lead  the  way  to  farther 
excesses.  But  not  so  in  the  present  case.  They 
seemed  completely  satiated  with  the  vengeance  they 
had  prosecuted  with  such  stanch  and  sagacious  ac- 
tivity. When  they  were  fully  satisfied  that  life  had 
abandoned  their  victim,  they  dispersed  in  every 
direction,  throwing  down  the  weapons  which  they 
had  only  assumed  to  enable  them  to  carry  through 
their  purpose.  At  daybreak  there  remained  not 
the  least  token  of  the  events  of  the  night,  except- 
ing the  corpse  of  Porteous,  which  still  hung  sus- 
pended in  the  place  where  he  had  suffered,  and  the 
arms  of  various  kinds  which  the  rioters  had  taken 
from  the  city  guard-house,  which  were  found  scat- 
tered about  the  streets  as  they  had  thrown  them 
from  their  hands,  when  the  purpose  for  which  they 
had  seized  them  was  accomplished. 

The  ordinary  magistrates  of  the  city  resumed 
their  power,  not  without  trembling  at  the  late  ex-  J 
perience  of  the  fragility  of  its  tenure.  To  march 
troops  into  the  city,  and  commence  a severe  en- 
quiry into  the  transactions  of  the  preceding  night, 
were  the  first  marks  of  returning  energy  which 
they  displayed.  But  these  events  had  been  conducted  j 
on  so  secure  and  well-calculated  a plan  of  safety  j 
and  secrecy,  that  there  was  little  or  nothing  learned 
to  throw  light  upon  the  authors  or  principal  actors 
in  a scheme  so  audacious.  An  express  was  dispatched 
to  London  with  the  tidings,  where  they  excited 


THE  HEART  OE  MID-LOTHIAN. 


99 


great  indignation  and  surprise  in  the  council  of 
regency,  and  particularly  in  the  bosom  of  Queen 
Caroline,  who  considered  her  own  authority  as  ex- 
posed to  contempt  by  the  success  of  this  singular 
conspiracy.  Nothing  was  spoke  of  for  some  time 
save  the  measure  of  vengeance  which  should  be 
taken,  not  only  on  the  actors  of  this  tragedy,  so 
soon  as  they  should  be  discovered,  but  upon  the 
magistrates  who  had  suffered  it  to  take  place,  and 
upon  the  city  which  had  been  the  scene  where  it 
was  exhibited.  On  this  occasion,  it  is  still  recorded 
in  popular  tradition,  that  her  Majesty,  in  the  height 
of  her  displeasure,  told  the  celebrated  John,  Duke 
of  Argyle,  that,  sooner  than  submit  to  such  an  in- 
sult, she  would  make  Scotland  a hunting-field.  “ In 
that  case,  Madam,”  answered  that  high-spirited  no- 
bleman, with  a profound  bow,  “ I will  take  leave 
of  your  Majesty,  and  go  down  to  my  own  country 
to  get  my  hounds  ready.” 

The  import  of  the  reply  had  more  than  met  the 
ear ; and  as  most  of  the  Scottish  nobility  and  gentry 
seemed  actuated  by  the  same  national  spirit,  the 
royal  displeasure  was  necessarily  checked  in  mid- 
volley, and  milder  courses  were  recommended  and 
adopted,  to  some  of  which  we  may  hereafter  have 
occasion  to  advert1 


CHAPTER  VIII. 


Arthur’s  Seat  shall  be  my  bed, 

The  sheets  shall  ne’er  be  press’d  by  me ; 

St.  Anton’s  well  shall  be  my  drink, 

Sin’  my  true-love’s  forsaken  me. 

Old  Song . 

ilF  I were  to  choose  a spot  from  which  the  rising 
or  setting  sun  could  be  seen  to  the  greatest  possi- 
ble advantage,  it  would  be  that  wild  path  winding 
around  the  foot  of  the  high  belt  of  semi-circular 
rocks,  called  Salisbury  Crags/and  marking  the  verge 
of  the  steep  descent  which  slopes  down  into  the  glen 
on  the  south-eastern  side  of  the  city  of  Edinburgh, 
The  prospect,  in  its  general  outline,  commands  a 
close-built,  high-piled  city,  stretching  itself  out  be- 
neath in  a form,  which,  to  a romantic  imagination, 
may  be  supposed  to  represent  that  of  a dragon  ; 
now,  a noble  arm  of  the  sea,  with  its  rocks,  isles, 
distant  shores,  and  boundary  of  mountains : and 
now,  a fair  and  fertile  champaign  country,  varied 
with  hill,  dale,  and  rock,  and  skirted  by  the  pictu- 
resque ridge  of  the  Pentland  Mountains.  But  as 
the  path  gently  circles  around  the  base  of  the  cliffs, 
the  prospect,  composed  as  it  is  of  these  enchanting 
and  sublime  objects,  changes  at  every  step,  and 
presents  them  blended  with,  or  divided  from,  each 
other,  in  every  possible  variety  which  can  gratify 
the  eye  and  the  imagination.  When  a piece  of 
scenery  so  beautiful,  yet  so  varied,  — - so  exciting  by 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN, 


IOI 


its  intricacy,  and  yet  so  sublime, — is  lighted  up  by 
the  tints  of  morning  or  of  evening,  and  displays 
all  that  variety  of  shadowy  depth,  exchanged  with 
partial  brilliancy,  which  gives  character  even  to  the 
tamest  of  landscapes,  the  effect  approaches  near  to 
enchantment.  This  path  used  to  be  my  favourite 
evening  and  morning  resort,  when  engaged  with  a 
favourite  author,  or  new  subject  of  study.  It  is,  I 
am  informed,  now  become  totally  impassable ; a cir- 
cumstance which,  if  true,  reflects  little  credit  on  the 
taste  of  the  Good  Town  or  its  leaders.1 

It  was  from  this  fascinating  path  — the  scene  to  me 
of  so  much  delicious  musing,  when  life  was  young 
and  promised  to  be  happy,  that  I have  been  unable 
to  pass  it  over  without  an  episodical  description  — 
it  was,  I say,  from  this  romantic  path  that  Butler 
saw  the  morning  arise  the  day  after  the  murder  of 
Porteous,  It  was  possible  for  him  with  ease  to  have 
found  a much  shorter  road  to  the  house  to  which 
he  was  directing  his  course,  and,  in  fact,  that  which 
he  chose  was  extremely  circuitous.  But  to  com- 
pose his  own  spirits,  as  well  as  to  while  away  the 
time,  until  a proper  hour  for  visiting  the  family 
without  surprise  or  disturbance,  he  was  induced  to 
extend  his  circuit  by  the  foot  of  the  rocks,  and  to 
linger  upon  his  way  until  the  morning  should  be 
considerably  advanced  While,  now  standing  with 
his  arms  across,  and  waiting  the  slow  progress  of 
the  sun  above  the  horizon,  now  sitting  upon  one  of 
the  numerous  fragments  which  storms  had  detached 
from  the  rocks  above  him,  he  is  meditating,  alter- 

1 A beautiful  and  solid  pathway  has,  within  a few  years,  been 
formed  around  these  romantic  rocks ; and  the  author  has  the 
pleasure  to  think,  that  the  passage  in  the  text  gave  rise  to  the 
undertaking 


102 


TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 


nately,  upon  the  horrible  catastrophe  which  he  had 
witnessed,  anil  upon  the  melancholy,  and  to  him 
most  interesting,  news  which  he  had  learned  at 
Saddletree’s,  we  will /give  the  reader  to  understand 
who  Butler  was,  and~Tiow  his  fate  was  connected 
with  that  of  Effie  Deans,  the  unfortunate  hand- 
maiden  of  the  careful  Mrs.  Saddletree,  j 

Reuben  Butler  was  of  English  extraction,  though 
born  in  Scotland.  His  grandfather  was  a trooper 
in  Monk’s  army,  and  one  of  the  party  of  dismoun- 
ted dragoons  which  formed  the  forlorn  hope  at 
the  storming  of  Dundee  in  1651.  Stephen  Butler 
(called,  from  his  talents  in  reading  and  expounding, 
Scripture  Stephen,  and  Bible  Butler)  was  a stanch 
independent,  and  received  in  its  fullest  comprehen- 
sion the  promise  that  the  saints  should  inherit  the 
earth.  As  hard  knocks  were  what  had  chiefly  fallen 
to  his  share  hitherto  in  the  division  of  this  common 
property,  he  lost  not  the  opportunity  which  the 
storm  and  plunder  of  a commercial  place  afforded 
him,  to  appropriate  as  large  a share  of  the  better 
things  of  this  world  as  he  could  possibly  compass. 
It  would  seem  that  he  had  succeeded  indifferently 
well,  for  his  exterior  circumstances  appeared,  in  con- 
sequence of  this  event,  to  have  been  much  mended. 

The  troop  to  which  he  belonged  was  quartered  at 
the  village  of  Dalkeith,  as  forming  the  body  guard 
of  Monk,  who,  in  the  capacity  of  general  for  the 
Commonwealth,  resided  in  the  neighbouring  castle. 
When,  on  the  eve  of  the  Restoration,  the  general 
commenced  his  march  from  Scotland,  a measure 
pregnant  with  such  important  consequences,  he  new- 
modelled  his  troops,  and  more  especially  those  im- 
mediately about  his  person,  in  order  that  they  might 
consist  entirely  of  individuals  devoted  to  himself. 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN 


103 


On  this  occasion  Scripture  Stephen  was  weighed 
in  the  balance,  and  found  wanting.  It  was  supposed 
he  felt  no  call  to  any  expedition  which  might  en- 
danger the  reign  of  the  military  sainthood,  and  that 
he  did  not  consider  himself  as  free  in  conscience  to 
join  with  any  party  which  might  be  likely  ultimately 
to  acknowledge  the  interest  of  Charles  Stewart,  the 
son  of  “the  last  man,”  as  Charles  I.  was  familiarly 
and  irreverently  termed  by  them  in  their  common 
discourse,  as  well  as  in  their  more  elaborate  pre- 
dications and  harangues.  As  the  time  did  not  admit 
of  cashiering  such  dissidents,  Stephen  Butler  was 
only  advised  in  a friendly  way  to  give  up  his  horse 
and  accoutrements  to  one  of  Middleton’s  old  troop- 
ers, who  possessed  an  accommodating  conscience  of 
a military  stamp,  and  which  squared  itself  chiefly 
upon  those  of  the  colonel  and  paymaster.  As  this 
hint  came  recommended  by  a certain  sum  of  ar- 
rears presently  payable,  Stephen  had  carnal  wisdom 
enough  to  embrace  the  proposal,  and  with  great 
indifference  saw  his  old  corps  depart  for  Coldstream, 
on  their  route  for  the  south,  to  establish  the  tot- 
tering government  of  England  on  a new  basis. 

The  zone  of  the  ex-trooper,  to  use  Horace’s  phrase, 
was  weighty  enough  to  purchase  a cottage  and  two 
or  three  fields,  (still  known  by  the  name  of  Beer- 
sheba,)  within  about  a Scottish  mile  of  Dalkeith ; 
and  there  did  Stephen  establish  himself  with  a 
youthful  helpmate,  chosen  out  of  the  said  village, 
whose  disposition  to  a comfortable  settlement  on 
this  side  of  the  grave  reconciled  her  to  the  gruff 
manners,  serious  temper,  and  weather-beaten  fea- 
tures of  the  martial  enthusiast.  Stephen  did  not 
long  survive  the  falling  on  “ evil  days  and  evil 
tongues  ” of  which  Milton,  in  the  same  predicament, 


104 


TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD, 


so  mournfully  complains.  At  his  death  his  consort 
remained  an  early  widow,  with  a male  child  of  three 
years  old,  which,  in  the  sobriety  wherewith  it  de- 
meaned itself,  in  the  old-fashioned  and  even  grim 
cast  of  its  features,  and  in  its  sententious  mode  of 
expressing  itself,  would  sufficiently  have  vindicated 
the  honour  of  the  widow  of  Beersheba,  had  any  one 
thought  proper  to  challenge  the  babe’s  descent  from 
Bible  Butler. 

Butler’s  principles  had  not  descended  to  his  fam- 
ily, or  extended  themselves  among  his  neighbours. 
The  air  of  Scotland  was  alien  to  the  growth  of  in- 
dependency, however  favourable  to  fanaticism  un- 
der other  colours.  But,  nevertheless,  they  were  not 
forgotten  ; and  a certain  neighbouring  Laird,  who 
piqued  himself  upon  the  loyalty  of  his  principles 
“ in  the  worst  of  times,”  (though  I never  heard  they 
exposed  him  to  more  peril  than  that  of  a broken 
head,  or  a night’s  lodging  in  the  main  guard,  when 
wine  and  cavalierism  predominated  in  his  upper 
story,)  had  found  it  a convenient  thing  to  rake  up  all 
matter  of  accusation  against  the  deceased  Stephen. 
In  this  enumeration  his  religious  principles  made 
no  small  figure,  as,  indeed,  they  must  have  seemed 
of  the  most  exaggerated  enormity  to  one  whose 
own  were  so  small  and  so  faintly  traced,  as  to  be 
well-nigh  imperceptible.  In  these  circumstances, 
poor  widow  Butler  was  supplied  with  her  full  pro- 
portion of  fines  for  non-conformity,  and  all  the  other 
oppressions  of  the  time,  until  Beersheba  was  fairly 
wrenched  out  of  her  hands,  and  became  the  pro- 
perty of  the  Laird  who  had  so  wantonly,  as  it 
had  hitherto  appeared,  persecuted  this  poor  forlorn 
woman.  When  his  purpose  was  fairly  achieved, 
he  showed  some  remorse  or  moderation,  or  whatever 


ios 


1 ^Jtk ' - v • ■ 

THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN. 

the  reader  may  please  to  term  it,  in  permitting  her 
to  occupy  her  husband’s  cottage,  and  cultivate,  on 
no  very  heavy  terms,  a croft  of  land  adjacent.  Her 
son,  Benjamin,  in  the  meanwhile,  grew  up  to  man’s 
estate^and,  moved  by  that  impulse  which  makes 
men  seek  marriage,  even  when  its  end  can  only  be 
the  perpetuation  of  misery,  he  wedded  and  brought 
a wife,  and,  eventually,  a son,  Reuben,  to  share  the 
poverty  of  Beersheba. 

The  Laird  of  Dumbiedikes  1 had  hitherto  been 
moderate  in  his  exactions,  perhaps  because  he  was 
ashamed  to  tax  too  highly  the  miserable  means  of 
support  which  remained  to  the  widow  Butler,  But 
when  a stout  active  young  fellow  appeared  as  the 
labourer  of  the  croft  in  question,  Dumbiedikes  be- 
gan to  think  so  broad  a pair  of  shoulders  might 
bear  an  additional  burden.  He  regulated,  indeed, 
his  management  of  his  dependents  (who  fortunately 
were  but  few  in  number)  much  upon  the  princi- 
ple of  the  carters  whom  he  observed  loading  their 
carts  at  a neighbouring  coal-hill,  and  who  never  failed 
to  clap  an  additional  brace  of  hundred-weights 
on  their  burden,  so  soon  as  by  any  means  they 
had  compassed  a new  horse  of  somewhat  superior 
strength  to  that  which  had  broken  down  the  day 
before.  However  reasonable  this  practice  appeared 
bo  the  Laird  of  Dumbiedikes,  he  ought  to  have  ob- 
served, that  it  may  be  overdone,  and  that  it  infers, 
as  a matter  of  course,  the  destruction  and  loss  of 
both  horse,  cart,  and  loading.  Even  so  it  befell 

1 Dumbiedikes,  selected  as  descriptive  of  the  taciturn  character 
of  the  imaginary  owner,  is  really  the  name  of  a house  bordering  on 
the  King’s  Park,  so  called  because  the  late  Mr.  Braidwood,  an 
instructor  of  the  deaf  and  dumb,  resided  there  with  his  pupils. 
The  situation  of  the  real  house  is  different  from  that  assigned  to 
the  ideal  mansion- 


io6  TALES  OE  MY  LANDLORD. 

when  the  additional  “ prestations  ” came  to  be  de- 
manded of  Benjamin  Butler.  A man  of  few  words, 
and  few  ideas,  but  attached  to  Beersheba  with  a 
feeling  like  that  which  a vegetable  entertains  to 
the  spot  in  which  it  chances  to  be  planted,  he  nei- 
ther remonstrated  with  the  Laird,  nor  endeavoured 
to  escape  from  him,  but  toiling  night  and  day  to 
accomplish  the  terms  of  his  task-master,  fell  into 
a burning  fever  and  died.  His  wife  did  not  long 
survive  him ; and,  as  if  it  had  been  the  fate  of  this 
family  to  be  left  orphans,  our  Reuben  Butler  was, 
about  the  year  1704-5,  left  in  the  same  circum- 
stances in  which  his  father  had  been  placed,  and 
under  the  same  guardianship,  being  that  of  his 
grandmother,  the  widow  of  Monk’s  old  trooper. 

The  same  prospect  of  misery  hung  over  the  head 
of  another  tenant  of  this  hard-hearted  lord  of  the 
soil  This  was  a tough  true-blue  Presbyterian, 
called  Deans,  who,  though  most  obnoxious  to  the 
Laird  on  account  of  principles  in  Church  and  State, 
contrived  to  maintain  his  ground  upon  the  estate 
by  regular  payment  of  mail-duties,  kain,  arriage, 
carriage,  dry  multure,  lock,  gowpen,  and  knave- 
ship,  and  all  the  various  exactions  now  commuted 
for  money,  and  summed  up  in  the  emphatic  word 
BENT.  But  the  years  of  1700  and  1701,  long  remem- 
bered in  Scotland  for  dearth  and  general  distress, 
subdued  the  stout  heart  of  the  agricultural  whig. 
Citations  by  the  ground-officer,  decreets  of  the  Ba- 
ron Court,  sequestrations,  poindings  of  outsight 
and  insight  plenishing,  flew  about  his  ears  as  fast 
as  ever  the  tory  bullets  whistled  around  those  of 
the  Covenanters  at  Pentland,  Bothwell  Brigg,  or 
Airsmoss.  Struggle  as  he  might,  and  he  struggled 
gallantly,  “ Douce  David  Deans  ” was  routed  horse 


THE  HEART  OE  MID-LOTHIAN. 


107 


and  foot,  and  lay  at  the  mercy  of  his  grasping  land- 
lord just  at  the  time  that  Benjamin  Butler  died. 
The  fate  of  each  family  was  anticipated ; but  they 
who  prophesied  their  expulsion  to  beggary  and  ruin, 
were  disappointed  by  an  accidental  circumstance. 

On  the  very  term-day  when  their  ejection  should 
have  taken  place,  when  all  their  neighbours  were 
prepared  to  pity,  and  not  one  to  assist  them,  the 
minister  of  the  parish,  as  well  as  a doctor  from 
Edinburgh,  received  a hasty  summons  to  attend 
the  Laird  of  Dumbiedikes.  Both  were  surprised, 
for  his  contempt  for  both  faculties  had  been  pretty 
commonly  his  theme  over  an  extra  bottle,  that  is 
to  say,  at  least  once  every  day.  The  leech  for  the 
soul,  and  he  for  the  body,  alighted  in  the  court  of 
the  little  old  manor-house  at  almost  the  same  time ; 
and  when  they  had  gazed  a moment  at  each  other 
with  some  surprise,  they  in  the  same  breath  ex- 
pressed their  conviction  that  Dumbiedikes  must 
needs  be  very  ill  indeed,  since  he  summoned  them 
both  to  his  presence  at  once.  Ere  the  servant  could 
usher  them  to  his  apartment  the  party  was  aug- 
mented by  a man  of  law,  Nichil  Novit,  writing  him- 
self procurator  before  the  Sheriff-court,  for  in  those 
days  there  were  no  solicitors.  This  latter  person- 
age was  first  summoned  to  the  apartment  of  the 
Laird,  where,  after  some  short  space,  the  soul-curer 
and  the  body-curer  were  invited  to  join  him. 

Dumbiedikes  had  been  by  this  time  transported 
into  the  best  bedroom,  used  only  upon  occasions  of 
I death  and  marriage,  and  called,  from  the  former  of 
these  occupations,  the  Dead-Room.  There  were  in 
this  apartment,  besides  the  sick  person  himself  and 
Mr.  Novit,  the  son  and  heir  of  the  patient,  a tall 
gawky  silly-looking  boy  of  fourteen  or  fifteen,  and  a 


io8  TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 

housekeeper,  a good  buxom  figure  of  a woman,  be- 
twixt forty  and  fifty,  who  had  kept  the  keys  and 
managed  matters  at  Dumbiedikes  since  the  lady’s 
death.  It  was  to  these  attendants  that  Dumbiedikes 
addressed  himself  pretty  nearly  in  the  following 
words  ; temporal  and  spiritual  matters,  the  care  of 
his  health  and  his  affairs,  being  strangely  jumbled 
in  a head  which  was  never  one  of  the  clearest. 

“ These  are  sair  times  wi’  me,  gentlemen  and 
neighbours ! amaist  as  ill  as  at  the  aughty-nine, 
when  I was  rabbled  by  the  collegeaners.1  They 
mistook  me  muckle  — they  ca’d  me  a papist,  but 
there  was  never  a papist  bit  about  me,  minister. 

— Jock,  ye’ll  take  warning  — it’s  a debt  we  maun  a’ 
pay,  and  there  stands  Nichil  Novit  that  will  tell  ye 
I was  never  gude  at  paying  debts  in  my  life.  — Mr. 
Novit,  ye’ll  no  forget  to  draw  the  annual  rent  that’s 
due  on  the  yerl’s  band  — if  I pay  debt  to  other  folk, 
I think  they  suld  pay  it  to  me  — that  equals  aquals. 

— Jock,  when  ye  hae  naething  else  to  do,  ye  may 
be  aye  sticking  in  a tree  ; it  will  be  growing,  Jock, 
when  ye’re  sleeping.2  My  father  tauld  me  sae  forty 
years  sin’,  but  I ne’er  fand  time  to  mind  him  — 
Jock,  ne’er  drink  brandy  in  the  morning,  it  files  the 
stamach  sair ; gin  ye  take  a morning’s  draught,  let 
it  be  aqua  mirabilis  ; J enny  there  makes  it  weel.  — 
Doctor,  my  breath  is  growing  as  scant  as  a broken- 

1 Immediately  previous  to  the  Revolution,  the  students  at  the 
Edinburgh  College  were  violent  anti -catholics.  They  were  strongly 
suspected  of  burning  the  house  of  Priestfield,  belonging  to  the 
Lord  Provost ; and  certainly  were  guilty  of  creating  considerable 
riots  in  1688-9. 

2 The  author  has  been  flattered  by  the  assurance,  that  this  naive 
mode  of  recommending  arboriculture  (which  was  actually  delivered 
in  these  very  words  by  a Highland  laird,  while  on  his  death-bed,  to 
his  son)  had  so  much  weight  with  a Scottish  earl,  as  to  lead  to  his 
planting  a large  tract  of  country. 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN.  109 

winded  piper's,  when  he  has  played  for  four-and- 
twenty  hours  at  a penny-wedding.  — Jenny,  pit  the 
cod  aneath  my  head  — but  it's  a'  needless  ! — Mass 
John,  could  ye  think  o'  rattling  ower  some  bit  short 
prayer,  it  wad  do  me  gude  maybe,  and  keep  some 
queer  thoughts  out  o'  my  head.  Say  something, 
man.” 

“ I cannot  use  a prayer  like  a rat-rhyme,”  an- 
swered the  honest  clergyman ; “ and  if  you  would 
have  your  soul  redeemed  like  a prey  from  the  fowler, 
Laird,  you  must  needs  show  me  your  state  of  mind.” 

“ And  shouldna  ye  ken  that  without  my  telling 
you  ? ” answered  the  patient.  “ What  have  I been 
paying  stipend  and  teind  parsonage  and  vicarage 
for,  ever  sin'  the  aughty-nine,  an  I canna  get  a spell 
of  a prayer  for't,  the  only  time  I ever  asked  for  ane 
in  my  life  ? — Gang  awa  wi'  your  whiggery,  if 
that's  a'  ye  can  do  ; auld  Curate  Kiltstoup  wad  hae 
read  half  the  Prayer-book  to  me  by  this  time  — Awa 
wi’  ye ! — Doctor,  let's  see  if  ye  can  do  ony  thing 
better  for  me.” 

The  doctor,  who  had  obtained  some  information 
in  the  meanwhile  from  the  housekeeper  on  the 
state  of  his  complaints,  assured  him  the  medical  art 
could  not  prolong  his  life  many  hours. 

“ Then  damn  Mass  John  and  you  baith  ! ” cried 
the  furious  and  intractable  patient.  “ Did  ye  come 
here  for  naething  but  to  tell  me  that  ye  canna  help 
me  at  the  pinch  ? Out  wi'  them,  Jenny  — out  o’  the 
house  ! and,  Jock,  my  curse,  and  the  curse  of  Crom- 
well, go  wi'  ye,  if  ye  gie  them  either  fee  or  bountith, 
or  sae  muckle  as  a black  pair  o'  cheverons ! ” 1 

The  clergyman  and  doctor  made  a speedy  retreat 
out  of  the  apartment,  while  Dumbiedikes  fell  into 

1 Cheverons  — gloves. 


iio  TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 

one  of  those  transports  of  violent  and  profane  lan- 
guage, which  had  procured  him  the  surname  of 
Damn-me-dikes.  — “Bring  me  the  brandy  bottle, 

Jenny,  ye  b ,”  he  cried,  with  a voice  in  which 

passion  contended  with  pain.  “ I can  die  as  I have 
lived,  without  fashing  ony  o'  them.  But  there’s  ae 
thing,”  he  said,  sinking  his  voice  — “ there’s  ae  fear- 
ful thing  hings  about  my  heart,  and  an  anker  of 
brandy  winna  wash  it  away.  The  Deanses  at  Wood- 
end  ! — I sequestrated  them  in  the  dear  years,  and 
now  they  are  to  flit,  they’ll  starve  — and  that  Beer- 
sheba,  and  that  auld  trooper’s  wife  and  her  oe, 
they’ll  starve  — they’ll  starve  ! — Look  out,  Jock ; 
what  kind  o’  night  is’t  ? ” 

“On-ding  o’  snaw,  father,”  answered  Jock,  after 
having  opened  the  window,  and  looked  out  with 
great  composure. 

“ They’ll  perish  in  the  drifts  ! ” said  the  expiring 
sinner  — “ they’ll  perish  wi’  cauld ! — but  I’ll  be 
het  eneugh,  gin  a’  tales  be  true.” 

This  last  observation  was  made  under  breath, 
and  in  a tone  which  made  the  very  attorney  shud- 
der. He  tried  his  hand  at  ghostly  advice,  probably 
for  the  first  time  in  his  life,  and  recommended,  as  an 
opiate  for  the  agonized  conscience  of  the  Laird,  re- 
paration of  the  injuries  he  had  done  to  these  dis- 
tressed families,  which,  he  observed  by  the  way,  the 
civil  law  called  restitutio  in  integrum . But  Mam- 
mon was  struggling  with  Remorse  for  retaining  his 
place  in  a bosom  he  had  so  long  possessed  ; and  he 
partly  succeeded,  as  an  old  tyrant  proves  often  too 
strong  for  his  insurgent  rebels. 

“ I canna  do’t,”  he  answered,  with  a voice  of  de- 
spair. “ It  would  kill  me  to  do’t  — how  can  ye  bid 
me  pay  back  siller,  when  ye  ken  how  I want  it? 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN. 


tit 


or  dispone  Beersheba,  when  it  lies  sae  weel  into  my 
ain  plaid-nuik  ? Nature  made  Dumbiedikes  and 

Beersheba  to  be  ae  man’s  land  — She  did,  by  . 

Nichil,  it  wad  kill  me  to  part  them.” 

“ But  ye  maun  die  whether  or  no,  Laird,”  said 
Mr.  Novit;  “and  maybe  ye  wad  die  easier  — it’s 
but  trying.  I’ll  scroll  the  disposition  in  nae  time.” 

“ Dinna  speak  o’t,  sir,”  replied  Dumbiedikes,  “ or 
I’ll  fling  the  stoup  at  your  head.  — But,  Jock,  lad, 
ye  see  how  the  warld  warstles  wi’  me  on  my  death- 
bed — be  kind  to  the  puir  creatures  the  Deanses 
and  the  Butlers  — be  kind  to  them,  Jock.  Dinna 
let  the  warld  get  a grip  o’  ye,  Jock  — but  keep  the 
gear  thegither ! and  whate’er  ye  do,  dispone  Beer- 
sheba at  no  rate.  Let  the  creatures  stay  at  a mod- 
erate mailing,  and  hae  bite  and  soup ; it  will  maybe 
be  the  better  wi’  your  father  whare  he’s  gaun,  lad.” 
After  these  contradictory  instructions,  the  Laird 
felt  his  mind  so  much  at  ease,  that  he  drank  three 
bumpers  of  brandy  continuously,  and  “ soughed 
awa,”  as  Jenny  expressed  it,  in  an  attempt  to  sing 
“Deil  stick  the  minister.” 

His  death  made  a revolution  in  favour  of  the  dis- 
tressed families.  John  Dumbie,  now  of  Dumbie- 
dikes, in  his  own  right,  seemed  to  be  close  and 
selfish  enough ; but  wanted  the  grasping  spirit  and 
active  mind  of  his  father;  and  his  guardian  hap- 
pened to  agree  with  him  in  opinion,  that  his  father’s 
dying  recommendation  should  be  attended  to.  The 
tenants,  therefore,  were  not  actually  turned  out  of 
doors  among  the  snow  wreaths,  and  were  allowed 
wherewith  to  procure  butter-milk  and  peas-ban- 
nocks,  which  they  eat  under  the  full  force  of  the 
original  malediction.  The  g 

W oodend.  was  not  very  distant  from  that  at  Beer- 


TALES  OE  MY  LANDLORD. 


U2 

sheba.  Formerly  there  had  been  little  intercourse 
between  the  families.  Deans  was  a sturdy  Scotch- 
man, with  all  sort  of  prejudices  against  the  south- 
ern, and  the  spawn  of  the  southern.  Moreover, 
Deans  was,  as  we  have  said,  a stanch  presbyterian, 
of  the  most  rigid  and  unbending  adherence  to  what 
he  conceived  to  be  the  only  possible  straight  line, 
as  he  was  wont  to  express  himself,  between  right- 
hand  heats  and  extremes,  and  left-hand  defections ; 
and,  therefore,  he  held  in  high  dread  and  horror  all 
independents,  and  whomsoever  he  supposed  allied 
to  them. 

But,  notwithstanding  these  national  prejudices 
and  religious  professions,  Deans  and  the  widow  But- 
ler were  placed  in  such  a situation,  as  naturally  and 
at  length  created  some  intimacy  between  the  fami- 
lies. They  had  shared  a common  danger  and  a 
mutual  deliverance.  They  needed  each  other’s  as- 
sistance, like  a company,  who,  crossing  a mountain 
stream,  are  compelled  to  cling  close  together,  lest 
the  current  should  be  too  powerful  for  any  who  are 
not  thus  supported. 

On  nearer  acquaintance,  too,  Deans  abated  some 
of  his  prejudices.  He  found  old  Mrs.  Butler,  though 
not  thoroughly  grounded  in  the  extent  and  bearing 
of  the  real  testimony  against  the  defections  of  the 
times,  had  no  opinions  in  favour  of  the  independent 
party ; neither  was  she  an  Englishwoman.  There- 
fore, it  was  to  be  hoped,  that,  though  she  was  the 
widow  of  an  enthusiastic  corporal  of  Cromwell’s 
dragoons,  her  grandsonlhight  be  neither  schismatic 
nor  anti-national,  two  "qualities  concerning  which 
Goodman  Deans  had  as  wholesome  a terror  as 
against  papists  and  malignants.  Above  all,  (for 
Douce  Davie  Deans  had  Ills'  weak  side,)  he  per- 


THE  HEART  0E  MID-LOTHIAN.  113 

ceived  that  widow  Butler  looked  up  to  him  with 
reverence,  listened  to  his  advice,  and  compounded  for 
an  occasional  fling  at  the  doctrines  of  her  deceased 
husband,  to  which,  as  we  have  seen,  she  was  by  no 
means  warmly  attached,  in  consideration  of  the  val- 
uable counsels  which  the  presbyterian  afforded  her 
for  the  management  of  her  little  farm.  These  usu- 
ally concluded  with,  “they  may  do  otherwise  in 
England,  neighbour  Butler,  for  aught  I ken;”  or, 
“ it  may  be  different  in  foreign  parts ; ” or,  “ they 
wha  think  differently  on  the  great  foundation  of 
our  covenanted  reformation,  overturning  and  mish- 
guggling  the  government  and  discipline  of  the  kirk, 
and  breaking  down  the  carved  work  of  our  Zion, 
might  be  for  sawing  the  craft  wi’  aits ; but  I say 
pease,  pease  ” And  as  his  advice  was  shrewd  and 
sensible,  though  conceitedly  given,  it  was  received 
with  gratitude,  and  followed  with  respect. 

The  intercourse  which  took  place  betwixt  the 
families  at  Beersheba  and  Woodend,  became  strict 
and  intimate,  at  a very  early  period,  betwixt 
Beuben  Butler,  with  whom  the  reader  is  already  in 
some  degree  acquainfeedTand  Jeanie  Deans,  the  only 
child  of  Douce  Davie  Deans  by  his  first  wife,  “ that 
singular  Christian  woman,”  as  he  was  wont  to  ex- 
press himself,  “ whose  name  was  savoury  to  all 
that  knew  her  for  a desirable  professor,  Christian 
Menzies  in  Hochmagirdle.”]  The  manner  of  which 
intimacy,  and  the  consequences  thereof,  we  now 
proceed  to  relate. 


CHAPTER  IX. 


Keuben  and  Rachel,  though  as  fond  as  doves, 

Were  yet  discreet  and  cautious  in  their  loves, 

Nor  would  attend  to  Cupid’s  wild  commands, 

Till  cool  reflection  bade  them  join  their  hands. 

When  both  were  poor,  they  thought  it  argued  ill 
Of  hasty  love  to  make  them  poorer  still 

Crabbe’s  Parish  Register. 


While  widow  Butler  and  widower  Deans  struggled 
with  poverty,  and  the  hard  and  sterile  soil  of  those 
“ parts  and  portions  ” of  the  lands  of  Dumbiedikes 
which  it  was  their  lot  to  occupy,  it  became  grad- 
ually apparent  that  Deans  was  to  gain  the  strife, 
and  his  ally  in  the  conflict  was  to  lose  it.  The  for- 
mer was  a man,  and  not  much  past  the  prime  of  life 
— Mrs.  Butler  a woman,  and  declined  into  the  vale 
of  years.  This,  indeed,  ought  in  time  to  have  been 
balanced  by  the  circumstance,  that  Reuben  was 
growing  up  to  assist  his  grandmother’s  labours,  and 
that  Jeanie  Deans,  as  a girl,  could  be  only  supposed 
to  add  to  her  father’s  burdens.  But  Douce  Davie 
Deans  knew  better  things,  and  so  schooled  and 
trained  the  young  minion,  as  he  called  her,  that 
from  the  time  she  could  walk,  upwards,  she  was 
daily  employed  in  some  task  or  other  suitable  to  her 
age  and  capacity ; a|circumstance^which,  added  to 
her  father’s  daily  instructions  and  lectures,  tended 
to  give  her  mind,  even  when  a child,  a grave,  serious, 
firm,  and  reflecting  cast.  An  uncommonly  strong 
and  healthy  temperament,  free  from  all  nervous 
affection  and  every  other  irregularity,  which,  attack- 


THE  HEAUT  OF  MID-LOTHIAN. 


ns 


ing  the  body  in  its  more  noble  functions,  so  often 
influences  the  mind,  tended  greatly  to  establish  this 
fortitude,  simplicity,  and  decision  of  character. 

On  the  other  hand,  Reuben  was  weak  in  constitu- 
tion, and,  though  not  timid  in  temper,  might  be  safely 
pronounced  anxious,  doubtful,  and  apprehensive. 
He  partook  of  the  temperament  of  his  mother,  who 
had  died  of  a consumption  in  early  age.  He  was  a 
pale,  thin,  feeble,  sickly  boy,  and  somewhat  lame, 
from  an  accident  in  early  youth.  He  was,  besides, 
the  child  of  a doting  grandmother,  whose  too  soli- 
citous attention  to  him  soon  taught  him  a sort 
of  diffidence  in  himself,  with  a disposition  to  over- 
rate his  own  importance,  which  is  one  of  the  very 
worst  consequences  that  children  deduce  from  over- 
indulgence. 

Still,  however,  the  two  children  clung  to  each 
other’s  society,  not  more  from  habit  than  from  taste. 
They  herded  together  the  handful  of  sheep,  with  the 
two  or  three  cows,  which  their  parents  turned  out 
rather  to  seek  food  than  actually  to  feed  upon  the 
unenclosed  common  of  Dumbiedikes.  It  was  there 
that  the  two  urchins  might  be  seen  seated  beneath 
a blooming  bush  of  whin,  their  little  faces  laid  close 
together  under  the  shadow  of  the  same  plaid  drawn 
over  both  their  heads,  while  the  landscape  around 
was  embrowned  by  an  overshadowing  cloud,  big  with 
the  shower  which  had  driven  the  children  to  shelter. 
On  other  occasions  they  went  together  to  school,  the 
boy  receiving  that  encouragement  and  example  from 
his  companion,  in  crossing  the  little  brooks  which 
intersected  their  path,  and  encountering  cattle,  dogs, 
and  other  perils,  upon  their  journey,  which  the  male 
sex  in  such  cases  usually  consider  it  as  their  piero- 
gative  to  extend  to  the  weaker  But  when,  seated 

. 


ji6  TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 

on  the  benches  of  the  school-house,  they  began  to 
con  their  lessons  together,  Reuben,  who  was  as  much 
superior  to  Jeanie  Deans  in  acuteness  of  intellect, 
as  inferior  to  her  in  firmness  of  constitution,  and  in 
that  insensibility  to  fatigue  and  danger  which  de- 
pends on  the  conformation  of  the  nerves,  was  able 
fully  to  requite  the  kindness  and  countenance  with 
which,  in  other  circumstances,  she  used  to  regard 
him.  He  was  decidedly  the  best  scholar  at  the  lit- 
tle parish  school ; and  so  gentle  was  his  temper  and 
disposition,  that  he  was  rather  admired  than  envied 
by  the  little  mob  who  occupied  the  noisy  mansion, 
although  he  was  the  declared  favourite  of  the  mas- 
ter. Several  girls,  in  particular,  (for  in  Scotland 
they  are  taught  with  the  boys,)  longed  to  be  kind 
to,  and  comfort  the  sickly  lad,  who  was  so  much 
cleverer  than  his  companions.  The  character  of 
Reuben  Butler  was  so  calculated  as  to  offer  scope 
both  for  their  sympathy  and  their  admiration,  the 
feelings,  perhaps,  through  which  the  female  sex  (the 
more  deserving  part  of  them  at  least)  is  more  easily 
attached. 

But  Reuben,  naturally  reserved  and  distant,  im- 
proved none  of  these  advantages ; and  only  became 
more  attached  to  Jeanie  Deans,  as  the  enthusiastic 
approbation  of  his  master  assured  him  of  fair  pros- 
pects in  future  life,  and  awakened  his  ambition. 
In  the  meantime,  every  advance  that  Reuben  made 
in  learning  (and,  considering  his  opportunities,  they 
were  uncommonly  great)  rendered  him  less  capable 
of  attending  to  the  domestic  duties  of  his  grand- 
mother’s farm.  While  studying  the  pons  asinorum 
in  Euclid,  he  suffered  every  cuddie  upon  the  com- 
mon to  trespass  upon  a large  field  of  pease  belong- 
ing to  the  Laird,  and  nothing  but  the  active  exer- 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN.  117 

tions  of  Jeanie  Deans,  with  her  little  dog  Dustie- 
foot,  could  have  saved  great  loss  and  consequent 
punishment.  Similar  miscarriages  marked  his  pro- 
gress in  his  classical  studies.  He  read  Virgil’s 
Georgies  till  he  did  not  know  bear  from  barley ; and 
had  nearly  destroyed  the  crofts  of  Beersheba,  while 
attempting  to  cultivate  them  according  to  the  prac- 
tice of  Columella  and  Cato  the  Censor. 

These  blunders  occasioned  grief  to  his  grand-dame, 
and  disconcerted  the  good  opinion  which  her  neigh- 
bour, Davie  Deans,  had  for  some  time  entertained  of 
Reuben. 

“ I see  naething  ye  can  make  of  that  silly  callant, 
neighbour  Butler,”  said  he  to  the  old  lady,  “ unless 
ye  train  him  to  the  wark  o’  the  ministry.  And 
ne’er  was  there  mair  need  of  poorfu’  preachers  than 
e’en  now  in  these  cauld  Gallio  days,  when  men’s 
hearts  are  hardened  like  the  nether  millstone,  till 
they  come  to  regard  none  of  these  things.  It’s  evi- 
dent this  puir  callant  of  yours  will  never  be  able 
to  do  an  usefu’  day’s  wark,  unless  it  be  as  an  am- 
bassador from  our  master ; and  I will  make  it  my 
business  to  procure  a license  when  he  is  fit  for  the 
same,  trusting  he  will  be  a shaft  cleanly  polished, 
and  meet  to  be  used  in  the  body  of  the  kirk ; and 
that  he  shall  not  turn  again,  like  the  sow,  to  wallow 
in  the  mire  of  heretical  extremes  and  defections,  but 
shall  have  the  wings  of  a dove,  though  he  hath  lain 
among  the  pots.” 

The  poor  widow  gulped  down  the  affront  to  her 
husband’s  principles,  implied  in  this  caution,  and 
hastened  to  take  Butler  from  the  High  School,  and 
encourage  him  in  the  pursuit  of  mathematics 
and  divinity,  the  only  physics  and  ethics  that 
chanced  to  be  in  fashion  at  the  time. 


fi8  TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 

Jeanie  Deans  was  now  compelled  to  part  from  the 
companion  of  her  labour,  her  study,  and  her  pastime, 
and  it  was  with  more  than  childish  feeling  that  both 
children  regarded  the  separation.  But  they  were 
young,  and  hope  was  high,  and  they  separated  like 
those  who  hope  to  meet  again  at  a more  auspicious 
hour. 

While  Eeuben  Butler  was  acquiring  at  the  Uni- 
versity of  St.  Andrews  the  knowledge  necessary  for 
a clergyman,  and  macerating  his  body  with  the  pri- 
vations which  were  necessary  in  seeking  food  for 
his  mind,  his  grand-dame  became  daily  less  able 
to  struggle  with  her  little  farm,  and  was  at  length 
obliged  to  throw  it  up  to  the  new  Laird  of  Dum- 
biedikes.  That  great  personage  was  no  absolute 
Jew,  and  did  not  cheat  her  in  making  the  bargain 
more  than  was  tolerable.  He  even  gave  her  per- 
mission to  tenant  the  house  in  which  she  had 
lived  with  her  husband,  as  long  as  it  should  be 
“ tenantable  ; ” only  he  protested  against  paying  for 
a farthing  of  repairs,  any  benevolence  which  he 
possessed  being  of  the  passive,  but  by  no  means 
of  the  active  mood. 

In  the  meanwhile,  from  superior  shrewdness, 
skill,  and  other  circumstances,  some  of  them  purely 
accidental,  Davie  Deans  gained  a footing  in  the 
world,  the  possession  of  some  wealth,  the  reputa- 
tion of  more,  and  a growing  disposition  to  preserve 
and  increase  his  store ; for  which,  when  he  thought 
upon  it  seriously,  he  was  inclined  to  blame  himself. 
From  his  knowledge  in  agriculture,  as  it  was  then 
practised,  he  became  a sort  of  favourite  with  the 
Laird,  who  had  no  pleasure  either  in  active  sports 
or  in  society,  and  was  wont  to  end  his  daily  saunter 
by  calling  at  the  cottage  of  Woodend. 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN.  119 

Being  himself  a man  of  slow  ideas  and  confused 
utterance,  Dumbiedikes  used  to  sit  or  stand  for  half 
an  hour  with  an  old  laced  hat  of  his  father’s  upon 
his  head,  and  an  empty  tobacco-pipe  in  his  mouth, 
with  his  eyes  following  Jeanie  Deans,  or  “ the 
lassie,”  as  he  called  her,  through  the  course  of 
her  daily  domestic  labour ; while  her  father,  after 
exhausting  the  subject  of  bestial,  of  ploughs,  and 
of  harrows,  often  took  an  opportunity  of  going 
full-sail  into  controversial  subjects,  to  which  dis- 
cussions the  dignitary  listened  with  much  seeming 
patience,  but  without  making  any  reply,  or,  indeed, 
as  most  people  thought,  without  understanding  a 
single  word  of  what  the  orator  was  saying.  Deans, 
indeed,  denied  this  stoutly,  as  an  insult  at  once  to 
his  own  talents  for  expounding  hidden  truths,  of 
which  he  was  a little  vain,  and  to  the  Laird’s  capa- 
city of  understanding  them.  He  said,  “ Dumbie- 
dikes was  nane  of  these  flashy  gentles,  wi’  lace  on 
their  skirts  and  swords  at  their  tails,  that  were 
rather  for  riding  on  horseback  to  hell  than  ganging 
barefooted  to  heaven.  He  wasna  like  his  father  — 
nae  profane  company-keeper  — nae  swearer  — nae 
drinker  — nae  frequenter  of  play-house,  or  music- 
house,  or  dancing-house  — nae  Sabbath-breaker  — 
nae  imposer  of  aiths,  or  bonds,  or  denier  of  liberty 
to  the  flock.  — - He  clave  to  the  warld,  and  the  warld’s 
gear,  a wee  ower  muckle,  but  then  there  was  some 
breathing  of  a gale  upon  his  spirit,”  &c.,  &c.  All 
this  honest  Davie  said  and  believed. 

\ It  is  not  to  be  supposed,  that,  by  a father  and  a 
man  of  sense  and  observation,  the  constant  direction 
of  the  I^aird’s  eyes  towards  Jeanie  was  altogether 
unnoticed./  This  circumstance,  however,  made  a 
much  greater  impression  upon  another  member  of 


* r 20 


TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 


his  family,  a second  helpmate,  to  wit,  whom  he  had 
chosen  to  take  to  liis  bosom  ten  years  after  the 
death  of  his  first.  Some  people  were  of  opinion, 
that  Douce  Davie  had  been  rather  surprised  into 
this  step,  for  in  general,  he  was  no  friend  to  mar- 
riages or  giving  in  marriage,  and  seemed  rather  to 
regard  that  state  of  society  as  a necessary  evil,  — a 
thing  lawful,  and  to  be  tolerated  in  the  imperfect 
state  of  our  nature,  but  which  clipped  the  wings 
with  which  we  ought  to  soar  upwards,  and  tethered 
the  soul  to  its  mansion  of  clay,  and  the  creature- 
comforts  of  wife  and  bairns.  His  own  practice, 
however,  had  in  this  material  point  varied  from 
his  principles,  since,  as  we  have  seen,  he  twice 
knitted  for  himself  this  dangerous  and  ensnaring 
entanglement. 

Bebecca,  his  spouse,  had  by  no  means  the  same 
horror  of  matrimony,  and  as  she  made  marriages  in 
imagination  for  every  neighbour  round,  she  failed 
not  to  indicate  a match  betwixt  Dumbiedikes  and 
her  step-daughter  Jeanie.  The  goodman  used  re- 
gularly to  frown  and  pshaw  whenever  this  topic 
was  touched  upon,  but  usually  ended  by  taking 
his  bonnet  and  walking  out  of  the  house  to  con- 
ceal  a certain  gleam  of  satisfaction,  which,  at  such  5 
a suggestion,  involuntarily  diffused  itself  over  his 
austere  features. 

The  more  youthful  part  of  my  readers  may 
naturally  ask,  whether  Jeanie  Deans  was  deserv- 
ing of  this  mute  attention  of  the  Laird  of  Dumbie- 
dikes ; and  the  historian,  with  due  regard  to  veracity, 
is  compelled  to  answer,  that  her  personal  attractions 
were  of  no  uncommon  description.  She  was  short, 
and  rather  too  stoutly  made  for  her  size,  had  grey 
eyes,  light-coloured  hair,  a round  good-humoured 


THE  HEART  OE  MID-LOTHIAN. 


I 21 


face,  much  tanned  with  the  sun,  and  her  only 
' peculiar  charm  was  an  air  of  inexpressible  serenity, 
which  a good  conscience,  kind  feelings,  contented 
temper,  and  the  regular  discharge  of  all  her  duties, 
spread  over  her  features.  There  was  nothing,  it 
may  be  supposed,  very  appalling  in  the  form  or 
manners  of  this  rustic  heroine ; yet,  whether  from 
sheepish  bashfulness,  or  from  want  of  decision  and 
imperfect  knowledge  of  his  own  mind  on  the  sub- 
ject, the  Laird  of  Dumbiedikes,  with  his  old  laced 
hat  and  empty  tobacco-pipe,  came  and  enjoyed 
the  beatific  vision  of  Jeanie  Deans  day  after  day, 
week  after  week,  year  after  year,  without  propos- 
ing to  accomplish  any  of  the  prophecies  - of  the 
step-mother. 

This  good  lady  began  to  grow  doubly  impatient 
on  the  subject,  when,  after  having  been  some  years 
married,  she  herself  ^rQseni^d^Jjmaa-  Davie  with 
another  daughter,  who  was  named  Euphemia,  by 
(irruption,  Effie.  It  was  then  that  Rebecca  began 
to  turn  impatient  with  the  slow  pace  at  which  the 
Laird’s  wooing  proceeded,  judiciously  arguing,  that, 
as  Lady  Dumbiedikes  would  have  but  little  occasion 
for  tocher,  the  principal  part  of  her  gudeman’s  sub- 
stance would  naturally  descend  to  the  child  by  the 
second  marriage.  Other  step-dames  have  tried  less 
laudable  means  for  clearing  the  way  to  the  succes- 
sion of  their  own  children ; but  Rebecca,  to  do  her 
justice,  only  sought  little  Effie’s  advantage  through 
the  promotion,  or  which  must  have  generally  been 
accounted  such,  of  her  elder  sister.  She  therefore 
tried  every  female  art  within  the  compass  of  her 
simple  skill,  to  bring  the  Laird  to  a point ; but  had 
the  mortification  to  perceive  that  her  efforts,  like 
those  of  an  unskilful  angler,  only  scared  the  trout 


122 


TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 


she  meant  to  catch.  Upon  one  occasion,  in  particu- 
lar, when  she  joked  with  the  Laird  on  the  propriety 
of  giving  a mistress  to  the  house  of  Dumbiedikes,  he 
was  so  effectually  startled,  that  neither  laced  hat, 
tobacco-pipe,  nor  the  intelligent  proprietor  of  these 
movables,  visited  Woodend  for  a fortnight.  Rebecca 
was  therefore  compelled  to  leave  the  Laird  to  pro- 
ceed at  his  own  snail’s  pace,  convinced,  by  experi- 
ence, of  the  grave-digger’s  aphorism,  that  your  dull 
ass  will  not  mend  his  pace  for  beating. 

Reuben,  in  the  meantime,  pursued  his  studies  at 
the  university,  supplying  his  wants  by  teaching  the 
younger  lads  the  knowledge  he  himself  acquired, 
and  thus  at  once  gaining  the  means  of  maintaining 
himself  at  the  seat  of  learning,  and  fixing  in  his 
mind  the  elements  of  what  he  had  already  obtained. 
In  this  manner,  as  is  usual  among  the  poorer  stu- 
dents of  divinity  at  Scottish  universities,  he  con- 
trived not  only  to  maintain  himself  according  to  his 
simple  wants,  but  even  to  send  considerable  assist- 
ance to  his  sole  remaining  parent,  a sacred  duty,  of 
which  the  Scotch  are  seldom  negligent.  His  pro- 
gress in  knowledge  of  a general  kind,  as  well  as  in 
the  studies  proper  to  his  profession,  was  very  con- 
siderable, but  was  little  remarked,  owing  to  the  re- 
tired modesty  of  his  disposition,  which  in  no  respect 
qualified  him  to  set  off  his  learning  to  the  best  ad- 
vantage. And  thus,  had  Butler  been  a man  given 
to  make  complaints,  he  had  his  tale  to  tell,  like 
others,  of  unjust  preferences,  bad  luck,  and  hard 
usage.  On  these  subjects,  however,  he  was  habitu- 
ally silent,  perhaps  from  modesty,  perhaps  from  a 
touch  of  pride,  or  perhaps  from  a conjunction  of 
both. 

He  obtained  his  license  as  a preacher  of  the  gos- 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN. 


123 


pel,  with  some  compliments  from  the  presbytery  by 
whom  it  was  bestowed ; but  this  did  not  lead  to  any 
• preferment,  and  he  found  it  necessary  to  make  the 
cottage  at  Beersheba  his  residence  for  some  months, 
with  no  other  income  than  was  afforded  by  the  pre- 
carious occupation  of  teaching  in  one  or  other  of  the 
neighbouring  families.  After  having  greeted  his 
aged  grandmother,  his  first  visit  was  to  Woodend, 
where  he  was  received  by  Jeanie  with  warm  cordial- 
ity, arising  from  recollections  which  had  never  been 
dismissed  from  her  mind,  by  Rebecca  with  good- 
humoured  hospitality,  and  by  old  Deans  in  a mode 
peculiar  to  himself.  \ 

Highly  as  Douce  Davie  ^honoured  the  clergy,  it 
was  not  upon  each  individual  of  the  cloth  that  he 
bestowed  his  approbation ; and,  a little  jealous,  per- 
haps, at  seeing  his  youthful  acquaintance  erected 
into  the  dignity  of  a teacher  and  preacher,  he  in- 
stantly attacked'  him  upon  various  points  of  contro- 
versy, in  order  to  discover  whether  he  might  not 
have  fallen  into  some  of  the  snares,  defections,  and 
desertions  of  the  time.  Butler  was  not  only  a man 
of  stanch  presbyterian  principles,  but  was  also 
willing  to  avoid  giving  pain  to  his  old  friend  by 
disputing  upon  points  of  little  importance;  and 
therefore  he  might  have  hoped  to  have  come  like 
refined  gold  out  of  the  furnace  of  Davie's  interroga- 
tories. But  the  result  on  the  mind  of  that  strict  in- 
vestigator was  not  altogether  so  favourable  as  might 
have  been  hoped  and  anticipated.  Old  Judith  But- 
ler, who  had  hobbled  that  evening  as  far  as  Wood- 
end,  in  order  to  enjoy  the  congratulations  of  her 
neighbours  upon  Reuben’s  return,  and  upon  his  high 
attainments,  of  which  she  was  herself  not  a little 
proud,  was  somewhat  mortified  to  find  that  her  old 


124 


TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 


friend  Deans  did  not  enter  into  the  subject  with  the 
warmth  she  expected.  At  first,  indeed,  he  seemed 
rather  silent  than  dissatisfied;  and  it  was  not  till 
Judith  had  essayed  the  subject  more  than  once  that 
it  led  to  the  following  dialogue. 

“Aweel,  neibor  Deans,  I thought  ye  wad  hae 
been  glad  to  see  Reuben  amang  us  again,  poor 
fallow.” 

“ I am  glad,  Mrs.  Butler,”  was  the  neighbour’s 
concise  answer. 

“ Since  he  has  lost  his  grandfather  and  his  father, 
(praised  be  Him  that  giveth  and  taketh  !)  I ken  nae 
friend  he  has  in  the  world  that’s  been  sae  like  a 
father  to  him  as  the  sell  o’  ye,  neibor  Deans.” 

“ God  is  the  only  father  of  the  fatherless,”  said 
Deans,  touching  his  bonnet  and  looking  upwards. 
“ Give  honour  where  it  is  due,  gudewife,  and  not  to 
an  unworthy  instrument.” 

“Aweel,  that’s  your  way  o’  turning  it,  and  nae 
doubt  ye  ken  best ; but  I hae  kend  ye,  Davie,  send 
a forpit  o’  meal  to  Beersheba  when  there  wasna  a 
bow  left  in  the  meal-ark  at  Woodend ; ay,  and  I hae 
kend  ye  ” 

“ Gudewife,”  said  Davie,  interrupting  her,  “ these 
are  but  idle  tales  to  tell  me ; fit  for  naething  but  to 
puff  up  our  inward  man  wi’  our  ain  vain  acts.  I 
stude  beside  blessed  Alexander  Peden,  when  I heard 
him  call  the  death  and  testimony  of  our  happy  mar- 
tyrs but  draps  of  blude  and  scarts  of  ink  in  respect 
of  fitting  discharge  of  our  duty ; and  what  suld  I 
think  of  ony  thing  the  like  of  me  can  do  ? ” 

“ Weel,  neibor  Deans,  ye  ken  best ; but  1 maun 
say  that,  I am  sure  you  are  glad  to  see  my  bairn 
again  — the  halt’s  gane  now,  unless  he  has  to  walk 
ower  mony  miles  at  a stretch ; and  he  has  a wee  bit 


THE  HEART  OE  MID-LOTHIAN. 


125 

colour  in  his  cheek,  that  glads  my  auld  een  to  see  it ; 
and  he  has  as  decent  a black  coat  as  the  minister ; 
and  ” 

“ I am  very  heartily  glad  he  is  weel  and  thriving,” 
said  Mr.  Deans,  with  a gravity  that  seemed  intended 
to  cut  short  the  subject ; but  a woman  who  is 
bent  upon  a point  is  not  easily  pushed  aside  from 
it. 

“ And,”  continued  Mrs.  Butler,  “ he  can  wag  his 
head  in  a pulpit  now,  neibor  Deans,  think  but  of 
that  — my  ain  oe  — and  a’body  maun  sit  still  and 
listen  to  him,  as  if  he  were  the  Paip  of  Rome.”  * 

“ The  what  ? — the  who  ? - — woman  ? ” said  Deans, 
with  a sternness  far  beyond  his  usual  gravity,  as 
soon  as  these  offensive  words  had  struck  upon  the^ 
tympanum  of  his  ear. 

“ Eh,  guide  us  ! ” said  the  poor  woman ; “ I had 
forgot  what  an  ill  will  ye  had  aye  at  the  Paip,  and 
sae  had  my  puir  gudeman,  Stephen  Butler.  Mony 
an  afternoon  he  wad  sit  and  take  up  his  testimony 
again  the  Paip,  and  again  baptizing  of  bairns,  and 
the  like.” 

“ Woman  ! ” reiterated  Deans,  “ either  speak  about 
what  ye  ken  something  o’,  or  be  silent;  I say  that* 
independency  is  a foul  heresy,  and  anabaptism  a 
damnable  and  deceiving  error,  whilk  suld  be  rooted 
out  of  the  land  wi’  the  fire  o’  the  spiritual,  and  the 
sword  0’  the  civil  magistrate.” 

“ Weel,  weel,  neibor,  I’ll  no  say  that  ye  mayna 
be  right,”  answered  the  submissive  Judith.  , “ I am 
sure  ye  are  right  about  the  sawm^aliffthe  maw- 
ing,  the  shearing  and  the  leading,  and  what  for  suld 
ye  no  be  right  about  kirkwark,  too  ? — But  concern- 
ing my  oe,  Reuben  Butler  — 

“ Reuben  Butler,  gudewife,”  said  David  with 


126  TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 

solemnity,  “ is  a lad  I wish  heartily  weel  to,  even 
as  if  he  were  mine  ain  son  — but  I doubt  there  will 
be  outs  and  ins  in  the  track  of  his  walk.  I muckle 
fear  his  gifts  will  get  the  heels  of  his  grace.  He  has 
ower  muckle  human  wit  and  learning,  and  thinks 
as  muckle  about  the  form  of  the  bicker  as  he  does 
about  the  healsomeness  of  the  food  — he  maun 
broider  the  marriage-garment  with  lace  and  pass- 
ments,  or  it's  no  gude  eneugh  for  him.  And  it’s 
like  he’s  something  proud  o’  his  human  gifts  and 
learning,  whilk  enables  him  to  dress  up  his  doc- 
trine in  that  fine  airy  dress.  But,”  added  he,  at  see- 
ing the  old  woman’s  uneasiness  at  his  discourse, 
“ affliction  may  gie  him  a jagg,  and  let  the  wind  out 
o’  him,  as  out  o’  a cow  that’s  eaten  wet  clover,  and 
the  lad  may  do  weel,  and  be  a burning  and  a shin- 
ing light  ; and  I trust  it  will  be  yours  to  see,  and 
his  to  feel  it,  and  that  soon.” 

Widow  Butler  was  obliged  to  retire,  unable  to 
make  anything  more  of  her  neighbour,  whose  dis- 
course, though  she  did  not  comprehend  it,  filled  her 
with  undefined  apprehensions  on  her  grandson’s 
account,  and  greatly  depressed  the  joy  with  which 
she  had  welcomed  him  on  his  return.  And  it  must 
not  be  concealed,  in  justice  to  Mr.  Deans’s  discern- 
ment, that  Butler,  in  their  conference,  had  made  a 
greater  display  of  his  learning  than  the  occasion 
called  for,  or  than  was  likely  to  be  acceptable  to  the 
old  man,  who,  accustomed  to  consider  himself  as  a 
person  pre-eminently  entitled  to  dictate  upon  theo- 
logical subjects  of  controversy,  felt  rather  humbled 
and  mortified  when  learned  authorities  were  placed 
in  array  against  him.  In  fact,  Butler  had  not  es- 
caped the  tinge  of  pedantry  which  naturally  flowed 
from  his  education,  and  was  apt,  on  many  occasions, 


THE  HEART  OE  MID-LOTHIAN- 


127 


to  make  parade  of  his  knowledge,  when  there  was 
no  need  of  such  vanity. 

Jeanie  Deans,  however,  found  no  fault  with  this 
display  of  learning,  but,  on  the  contrary,  admired 
iff  perhaps  on  the  same  score  that  her  sex  are  said 
to  admire  men  of  courage,  on  account  of  their  own 
deficiency  in  that  qualification.  The  circumstances 
of  their  families  threw  the  young  people  constantly 
together;  their  old  intimacy  was  renewed,  though 
upon  a footing  better  adapted  to  their  age  ; and  it 
became  at  length  understood  betwixt  them,  that 
their  union  should  be  deferred  no  longer  than  un- 
til Butler  should  obtain  some  steady  means  of  sup- 
port, however  humble.  This,  however,  was  not  a 
matter  speedily  to  be  accomplished.  Plan  after 
plan  was  formed,  and  plan  after  plan  failed.  The 
good-humoured  cheek  of  Jeanie  lost  the  first  flush 
of  juvenile  freshness ; Reuben’s  brow  assumed  the 
gravity  of  manhood,  yet  the  means  of  obtaining  a 
settlement  seemed  remote  as  ever.  Fortunately 
for  the  lovers,  their  passion  was  of  no  ardent  or 
enthusiastic  cast ; and  a sense  of  duty  on  both  sides 
induced  them  to  bear,  with  patient  fortitude,  the 
protracted  interval  which  divided  them  from  each 
other. 

In  the  meanwhile,  time  did  not  roll  on  without 
effecting  his  usual  changes.  The  widow  of  .Stephen 
Butler,  so  long  the  prop  of  the  family  of  Beersheba, 
was  gathered  to  her  fathers ; and  Rebecca,  the  care- 
ful spouse  of  our  friend  Davie  Deans,  was  also  sum- 
moned from  her  plans  of  matrimonial  and  domestic 
economy.  The  morning  after  her  death,  Reuben 
Butler  went  to  offer  his  mite  of  consolation  to  his  old 
friend  and  benefactor.  He  witnessed,  on  this  occa- 
sion, a remarkable  struggle  betwixt  the  force  of  nat- 


128  TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 

ural  affection,  and  the  religious  stoicism,  which  the 
sufferer  thought  it  was  incumbent  upon  him  to 
maintain  under  each  earthly  dispensation,  whether 
of  weal  or  woe. 

On  his  arrival  at  the  cottage,  Jeanie,  with  her 
eyes  overflowing  with  tears,  pointed  to  the  little 
orchard,  “ in  which,”  she  whispered  with  broken 
accents,  “ my  poor  father  has  been  since  his  mis- 
fortune.” Somewhat  alarmed  at  this  account,  But- 
ler entered  the  orchard,  and  advanced  slowly 
towards  his  old  friend,  who,  seated  in  a small  rude 
arbour,  appeared  to  be  sunk  in  the  extremity  of  his 
affliction.  He  lifted  his  eyes  somewhat  sternly  as 
Butler  approached,  as  if  offended  at  the  interrup- 
tion ; but  as  the  young  man  hesitated  whether  he 
ought  to  retreat  or  advance,  he  arose,  and  came  for- 
ward to  meet  him,  with  a self-possessed,  and  even 
dignified  air. 

“Young  man,”  said  the  sufferer, “ lay  it  not  to 
'Tieart,  though  the  righteous  perish  and  the  merci- 
ful are  removed,  seeing,  it  may  well  be  said,  that 
they  are  taken  away  from  the  evils  to  come.  Woe 
to  me,  were  I to  shed  a tear  for  the  wife  of  my 
bosom,  when  I might  weep  rivers  of  water  for  this 
afflicted  Church,  cursed  as  it  is  with  carnal  seekers, 
and  with  the  dead  of  heart  ” 

“ I am  happy,”  said  Butler,  “ that  you  can  forget 
your  private  affliction  in  your  regard  for  public 
duty.” 

“ Forget,  Reuben  ? ” said  poor  Deans,  putting  his 
handkerchief  to  his  eyes,  — “ She ’s  not  to  be  for- 
gotten on  this  side  of  time  ; but  He  that  gives  the 
fVvound  can  send  the  ointment.  I declare  there  have 
been  times  during  this  night  when  my  meditation 
has  been  so  wrapt  that  I knew  not  of  my  heavy 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN. 


129 


loss.  It  has  been  with  me  as  with  the  worthy  John 
Semple,  called  Carspharn  John,1  (/)  upon  a like  trial, 
— I have  been  this  night  on  the  banks  of  Ulai, 
plucking  an  apple  here  and  there.” 

Notwithstanding  the  assumed  fortitude  of  Deans, 
which  he  conceived  to  be  the  discharge  of  a great 
Christian  duty,  he  had  too  good  a heart  not  to  suf- 
fer deeply  under  this  heavy  loss.  Woodend  became 
altogether  distasteful  to  him  ; and  as  he  had  ob- 
tained both  substance  and  experience  by  his  manage- 
ment of  that  little  farm,  he  resolved  to  employ  them 
as  a dairy-farmer,  or  cow-feeder,  as  they  are  called 
in  Scotland.  The  situation  he  chose  for  his  new 
settlement  was  at  a place  called  Saint  Leonard’s 
Crags,  lying  betwixt  Edinburgh  and  the  mountain 
called  Arthur’s  Seat,  and  adjoining  to  the  extensive 
sheep  pasture  still  named  the  King’s  Park,  from  its 
having  been  formerly  dedicated  to  the  preservation 
of  the  royal  game.  Here  he  rented  a small  lonely 
house,  about  half  a mile  distant  from  the  nearest 
point  of  the  city,  but  the  site  of  which,  with  all  the 
adjacent  ground,  is  now  occupied  by  the  buildings 
which  form  the  south-eastern  suburb.  An  extensive 
pasture-ground  adjoining,  which  Deans  rented  from 
the  keeper  of  the  Royal  Park,  enabled  him  to  feed 
his  milk-cows ; and  the  unceasing  industry  and  ac- 
tivity of  Jeanie,  his  eldest  daughter,  was  exerted  in 
making  the  most  of  their  produce. 

She  had  now  less  frequent  opportunities  of  see- 
ing Reuben,  who  had  been  obliged,  after  various 
disappointments,  to  accept  the  subordinate  situation 
of  assistant  in  a parochial  school  of  some  eminence, 
at  three  or  four  miles’  distance  from  the  city.  Here 
he  distinguished  himself,  and  became  acquainted 

1 Note  IV.  — Carspharn  John. 


130  TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 

with  several  respectable  burgesses,  who,  on  account 
of  health,  or  other  reasons,  chose  that  their  children 
should  commence  their  education  in  this  little  vil- 
lage. His  prospects  were  thus  gradually  brighten- 
ing,  and  upon  each  visit  which  he  paid  at  Saint 
Leonard’s  he  had  an  opportunity  of  gliding  a hint 
to  this  purpose  into  Jeanie’s  ear.  These  visits  were 
necessarily  very  rare,  on  account  of  the  demands 
which  the  duties  of  the  school  made  upon  Butler’s 
time.  NT  or  did  he  dare  to  make  them  even  alto- 
gether so  frequent  as  these  avocations  would  permit. 
Deans  received  him  with  civility  indeed,  and  even 
with  kindness ; but  Beuben,  as  is  usual  in  such 
cases,  imagined  that  he  read  his  purpose  in  his  eyes, 
and  was  afraid  too  premature  an  explanation  on  the 
subject  would  draw  down  his  positive  disapproval. 
Upon  the  whole,  therefore,  he  judged  it  prudent  to 
call  at  Saint  Leonard’s  just  so  frequently  as  old  ac- 
quaintance and  neighbourhood  seemed  to  authorize, 
and  no  oftener.  There  was  another  person  who  was 
more  regular  in  his  visits. 

When  Davie  Deans  intimated  to  the  Laird  of 
Dumbiedikes  his  purpose  of  “ quitting  wi’  the  land 
and  house  at  Woodend,”  the  Laird  stared  and  said 
nothing.  He  made  his  usual  visits  at  the  usual 
hour  without  remark,  until  the  day  before  the  term, 
when,  observing  the  bustle  of  moving  furniture  al- 
ready commenced,  the  great  east-country  avjmrie 
dragged  out  of  its  nook,  and  standing  with  its 
shoulder  to  the  company,  like  an  awkward  booby 
about  to  leave  the  room,,  the  Laird  again  stared 
mightily,  and  was  heard  to  ejaculate,  “ Hegh,  sirs ! ” 
Even  after  the  day  of  departure  was  past  and  gone, 
the  Laird  of  Dumbiedikes,  at  his  usual  hour,  which 
was  that  at  which  David  Deans  was  wont  to  “ loose 


THE  HEART  OE  MID-LOTHIAN.  131 

the  pleugh,”  presented  himself  before  the  closed 
door  of  the  cottage  at  Woodend,  and  seemed  as 
much  astonished  at  finding  it  shut  against  his  ap- 
proach as  if  it  was  not  exactly  what  he  had  to 
expect.  On  this  occasion  he  was  heard  to  ejaculate, 

“ Gude  guide  us  ! ” which,  by  those  who  knew  him, 
was  considered  as  a very  unusual  mark  of  emotion. 

From  that  moment  forward,  Dumbiedikes  became 
an  altered  man,  and  the  regularity  of  his  move- 
ments, hitherto  so  exemplary,  was  as  totally  dis- 
concerted as  those  of  a boy’s  watch  when  he  has 
broken  the  main-spring.  Like  the  index  of  the 
said  watch,  did  Dumbiedikes  spin  round  the  whole  [>W 
bounds  of  his  little  property,  which  may  be  likened 
unto  the  dial  of  the  time-piece,  with  unwonted 
velocity.  There  was  not  a cottage  into  which  he 
did  not  enter,  nor  scarce  a maiden  on  whom  he  did 
not  stare.  But  so  it  was,  that  although  there  were 
better  farm-houses  on  the  land  than  Woodend,  and 
certainly  much  prettier  girls  than  Jeanie  Deans,  yet 
it  did  somehow  befall  that  the  blank  in  the  Laird’s 
time  was  not  so  pleasantly  filled  up  as  it  had  been. 

There  was  no  seat  accommodated  him  so  well  as 
the  “ bunker”  at  Woodend,  and  no  face  he  loved  so 
much  to  gaze  on  as  Jeanie  Deans’s.  So,  after  spin- 
ning round  and  round  his  little  orbit,  and  then  re- 
maining stationary  for  a week,  it  seems  to  have 
occurred  to  him,  that  he  was  not  pinned  down  to 
circulate  on  a pivot,  like  the  hands  of  the  watch, 
but  possessed  the  power  of  shifting  his  central 
point,  and  extending  his  circle  if  he  thought  proper. 

To  realize  which  privilege  of  change  of  place,  he 
bought  a pony  from  a Highland  drover,  and  with  its 
assistance  and  company  stepped,  or  rather  stumbled,  x 
as  far  as  Saint  Leonard’s  Crags. 


132 


TALES  OE  MY  LANDLORD. 


Jeanie  Deans,  though  so  much  accustomed  to  the 
Laird’s  staring  that  she  was  sometimes  scarce  con- 
scious of  his  presence,  had  nevertheless  some  occa- 
sional fears  lest  he  should  call  in  the  organ  of  speech 
to  back  those  expressions  of  admiration  which  he 
bestowed  on  her  through  his  eyes.  Should  this  hap- 
pen, farewell,  she  thought,  to  all  chance  of  an  union 
with  Butler.  For  her  father,  however  stout-hearted 
and  independent  in  civil  and  religious  principles, 
was  not  without  that  respect  for  the  laird  of  the 
land,  so  deeply  imprinted  on  the  Scottish  tenantry 
of  the  period.  Moreover,  if  he  did  not  positively 
dislike  Butler,  yet  his  fund  of  carnal  learning  was 
often  the  object  of  sarcasms  on  David’s  part,  which 
were  perhaps  founded  in  jealousy,  and  which  cer- 
tainly indicated  no  partiality  for  the  party  against 
whom  they  were  launched.  And,  lastly,  the  match 
with  Dumbiedikes  would  have  presented  irresistible 
charms  to  one  who  used  to  complain  that  he  felt 
himself  apt  to  take  “ower  grit  an  armfu’  o’  the 
warld.”  So  that,  upon  the  whole,  the  Laird’s  diur- 
nal visits  were  disagreeable  to  Jeanie  from  appre- 
hension of  future  consequences,  and  it  served  much 
to  console  her,  upon  removing  from  the  spot  where 
she  was  bred  and  born,  that  she  had  seen  the  last  of 
Dumbiedikes,  his  laced  hat,  and  tobacco-pipe.  The 
poor  girl  no  more  expected  he  could  muster  cour- 
age to  follow  her  to  Saint  Leonard’s  Crags,  than 
that  any  of  her  apple-trees  or  cabbages  which  she 
had  left  rooted  in  the  “ yard  ” at  Woodend,  wrould 
spontaneously,  and  unaided,  have  undertaken  the 
same  journey.  It  was,  therefore,  with  much  more 
surprise  than  pleasure  that,  oil  the  sixth  day  after 
their  removal  to  Saint  Leonard’s,  she  beheld  Dum- 
biedikes arrive,  laced  hat,  tooacco-pipe,  and  all,  and 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN. 


133 


with  the  self-same  greeting  of  “ How’s  a’  wi’  ye, 
Jeanie  ? — Wliare’s  the  gudeman  ? ” assume  as 
nearly  as  he  could  the  same  position  in  the  cottage 
at  Saint  Leonard’s  which  he  had  so  long  and  so 
regularly  occupied  at  Woodend.  He  was  no  sooner, 
however,  seated,  than  with  an  unusual  exertion  of 
his  powers  of  conversation,  he  added,  “ Jeanie  — 1 
say,  Jeanie,  woman”  — here  he  extended  his  hand 
towards  her  shoulder  with  all  the  fingers  spread  out 
as  if  to  clutch  it,  but  in  so  bashful  and  awkward  a 
manner,  that  when  she  whisked  herself  beyond  its 
reach,  the  paw  remained  suspended  in  the  air  with 
the  palm  open,  like  the  claw  of  a heraldic  griffin  — 
“ Jeanie,”  continued  the  swain,  in  this  moment  of 
inspiration,  — “I  say,  Jeanie,  it’s  a braw  day  out-by 
and  the  roads  are  no  that  ill  for  boot-hose.” 

“ The  deil’s  in  the  daidling  body,”  muttered  Jeanie 
between  her  teeth ; “ wha  wad  hae  thought  o’  his 
daikering  out  this  length  ? ” And  she  afterwards 
confessed  that  she  threw  a little  of  this  ungracious 
sentiment  into  her  accent  a,nd  manner ; for  her 
father  being  abroad,  and  the  “ body,”  as  she  irrev- 
erently termed  the  landed  proprietor,  “ looking  unco 
gleg  and  canty,  she  didna  ken  what  he  might  be 
coming  out  wi’  next.” 

Her  frowns,  however,  acted  as  a complete  sedative, 
and  the  Laird  relapsed  from  that  day  into  his  former 
taciturn  habits,  visiting  the  cow-feeder’s  cottage 
three  or  four  times  every  week,  when  the  weather 
permitted,  with  apparently  no  other  purpose  than  to 
stare  at  Jeanie  Deans,  while  Douce  Davie  poured 
forth  his  eloquence  upon  the  controversies  and  testr 
monies  of  the  day. 


CHAPTER  Xj 

Ker  air,  her  manners,  all  who  saw  admired, 

Courteous,  though  coy,  and  gentle,  though  retired ; 

The  joy  of  youth  and  health  her  eyes  display’d, 

And  ease  of  heart  her  every  look  convey’d. 

Crabbe 

The  visits  of  the  Laird  thus  again  sunk  into  mat- 
ters of  ordinary  course,  from  which  nothing  was  to 
be  expected  or  apprehended.  If  a lover  could  have 
gained  a fair  one  as  a snake  is  said  to  fascinate  a 
bird,  by  pertinaciously  gazing  on  her  with  great 
stupid  greenish  eyes,  which  began  now  to  be  occa- 
sionally aided  by  spectacles,  unquestionably  Dum- 
biedikes  would  have  been  the  person  to  perform  the 
feat.  But  the  art  of  fascination  seems  among  the 
artes  jperditce , and  I cannot  learn  that  this  most 
pertinacious  of  starers  produced  any  effect  by  his 
attentions  beyond  an  occasional  yawn. 

In  the  meanwhile,  the  object  of  his  gaze  was 
gradually  attaining  the  verge  of  youth,  and  ap- 
proaching to  what  is  called  in  females  the  middle 
age,  which  is  impolitely  held  to  begin  a few  years 
earlier  with  their  more  fragile  sex  than  with  men. 
Many  people  would  have  been  of  opinion,  that  the 
Laird  would  have  done  better  to  have  transferred 
his  glances  to  an  object  possessed  of  far  superior 
charms  to  Jeanie’s,  even  when  Jeanie’s  were  in  their 
bloom,  who  began  now  to  be  distinguished  by  all 
who  visited  the  cottage  at  St.  Leonard’s  Crags. 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTIIIAN.  135 

Effie  Deans,  under  the  tender  and  affectionate 
care  of  her  sister,  had  now  shot  up  into  a beautiful 
and  blooming  girl.  Her  Grecian-shaped  head  was 
profusely  rich  in  waving  ringlets  of  brown  hair, 
which,  confined  by  a blue  snood  of  silk,  and  shad- 
ing a laughing  Hebe  countenance,  seemed  the  pic- 
ture of  health,  pleasure,  and  contentment.  Her 
brown  russet  short-gown  set  off  a shape,  which 
time,  perhaps,  might  be  expected  to  render  too  ro- 
bust, the  frequent  objection  to  Scottish  beauty,  but 
which,  in  her  present  early  age,  was  slender  and 
taper,  with  that  graceful  and  easy  sweep  of  outline 
which  at  once  indicates  health  and  beautiful  pro- 
portion of  parts. 

These  growing  charms,  in  all  their  juvenile  pro- 
fusion, had  no  power  to  shake  the  steadfast  mind, 
or  divert  the  fixed  gaze,  of  the  constant  Laird  of 
Dumbiedikes.  But  there  was  scarce  another  eye 
that  could  behold  this  living  picture  of  health  and 
beauty,  without  pausing  on  it  with  pleasure.  The 
traveller  stopped  his  weary  horse  on  the  eve  of  en- 
tering the  city  which  was  the  end  of  his  journey,  to 
gaze  at  the  sylph-like  form  that  tripped  by  him, 
with  her  milk-pail  poised  on  her  head,  bearing  her- 
self so  erect,  and  stepping  so  light  and  free  under 
her  burden,  that  it  seemed  rather  an  ornament 
than  an  encumbrance.  The  lads  of  the  neighbour- 
ing suburb,  who  held  their  evening  rendezvous  for 
putting  the  stone,  casting  the  hammer,  playing  at 
long  bowls,  and  other  athletic  exercises,  watched 
the  motions  of  Effie  Deans,  and  contended  with 
each  other  which  should  have  the  good  fortune  to 
attract  her  attention.  Even  the  rigid  presbyterians 
of  her  father’s  persuasion,  who  held  each  indul- 
gence of  the  eye  and  sense  to  be  a snare  at  least,  if 


136 


TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 


not  a crime,  were  surprised  into  a moment’s  delight 
while  gazing  on  a creature  so  exquisite,  — instantly 
checked  by  a sigh,  reproaching  at  once  their  own 
weakness,  and  mourning  that  a creature  so  fair 
should  share  in  the  common  and  hereditary  guilt 
and  imperfection  of  our  nature.  She  was  currently 
entitled  the  Lily _jqL~ St,  Leonard’s,  a name  which 
she  deserved  as  much  by  her  guileless  purity  of 
thought,  speech,  and  action,  as  by  her  uncommon 
loveliness  of  face  and  person. 

Yet  there  were  points  in  Effie’s  character,  which 
gave  rise  not  only  to  strange  doubt  and  anxiety  on 
the  part  of  Douce  David  Deans,  whose  ideas  were 
rigid,  as  may  easily  be  supposed,  upon  the  subject 
of  youthful  amusements,  but  even  of  serious  appre- 
hension to  her  more  indulgent  sister.  The  children 
of  the  Scotch  of  the  inferior  classes  are  usually 
spoiled  by  the  early  indulgence  of  their  parents  ; 
how,  wherefore,  and  to  what  degree,  the  lively  and 
instructive  narrative  of  the  amiable  and  accom- 
plished authoress  of  “ Glenburnie  ” 1 has  saved  me 
and  all  future  scribblers  the  trouble  of  recording. 
Effie  had  had  a double  share  of  this  inconsiderate 
and  misjudged  kindness.  Even  the  strictness  of 
her  father’s  principles  could  not  condemn  the  sports 
of  infancy  and  childhood ; and  to  the  good  old  man, 
his  younger  daughter,  the  child  of  his  old  age, 
seemed  a child  for  some  years  after  she  attained 
the  years  of  womanhood,  was  still  called  the  “ bit 
lassie  ” and  “ little  Effie,”  and  was  permitted  to  run 
up  and  down  uncontrolled,  unless  upon  the  Sab- 
bath, or  at  the  times  of  family  worship.  Her  sister, 
with  all  the  love  and  care  of  a mother,  could  not  be 
supposed  to  possess  the  same  authoritative  influence; 

1 Mrs  Elizabeth  Hamilton,  now  no  more.  — Editor 


THE  HEART  OK  MID-LOTHIAN. 


137 


and  that  which  she  had  hitherto  exercised  became 
gradually  limited  and  diminished  as  Effie’s  advan- 
cing years  entitled  her,  in  her  own  conceit  at  least, 
to  the  right  of  independence  and  free  agency. 
With  all  the  innocence  and  goodness  of  disposition, 
therefore,  which  we  have  described,  the  Lily  of  St. 
Leonard’s  possessed  a little  fund  of  self-conceit  and 
obstinacy,  and  some  warmth  and  irritability  of  tem- 
per, partly  natural  perhaps,  but  certainly  much  i 
increased  by  the  unrestrained  freedom  of  her  child- 
hood. Her  character  will  be  best  illustrated  by  a 
cottage  evening  scene. 

The  careful  father  was  absent  in  his  well-stocked 
byre,  foddering  those  useful  and  patient  animals  on 
whose  produce  his  living  depended,  and  the  sum- 
mer evening  was  beginning  to  close  in,  when  Jeanie 
Deans  began  to  be  very  anxious  for  the  appearance 
of  her  sister,  and  to  fear  that  she  would  not  reach 
home  before  her  father  returned  from  the  labour 
of  the  evening,  when  it  was  his  custom  to  have 
“ family  exercise,”  and  when  she  knew  that  Effie’s 
absence  would  give  him  the  most  serious  displeas- 
ure. These  apprehensions  hung  heavier  upon  her 
mind,  because,  for  several  preceding  evenings,  Ef- 
fie  had  disappeared  about  the  same  time,  and  her 
stay,  at  first  so  brief  as  scarce  to  be  noticed,  had 
been  gradually  protracted  to  half  an  hour,  and  an 
hour,  • and  on  the  present  occasion  had  considerably 
exceeded  even  this  last  limit.  And  now,  Jeanie 
stood  at  the  door,  with  her  hand  before  her  eyes  to 
avoid  the  rays  of  the  level  sun,  and  looked  alter- 
nately along  the  various  tracks  which  led  towards 
their  dwelling,  to  see  if  she  could  descry  the 
nymph -like  form  of  her  sister.  There  was  a wall 
and  a stile  which  separated  the  royal  domain,  ox 


138  TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 

King’s  Park,  as  it  is  called,  from  the  public  road, 
to  this  pass  she  frequently  directed  her  attention, 
when  she  saw  two  persons  appear  there  somewhat 
suddenly,  as  if  they  had  walked  close  by  the  side 
of  the  wall  to  screen  themselves  from  observation. 
One  of  them,  a man,  drew  back  hastily ; the  other, 
a female,  crossed  the  stile,  and  advanced  towards 
her  — It  was  Effie.  She  met  her  sister  with  that 
affected  liveliness  of  manner,  which,  in  her  rank, 
and  sometimes  in  those  above  it,  females  occasion- 
ally assume  to  hide  surprise  or  confusion ; and  she 
carolled  as  she  came  — 

“ The  elfin  knight  sate  on  the  brae, 

The  broom  grows  bonny,  the  broom  grows  fair; 

And  by  there  came  lilting  a lady  so  gay, 

And  we  daurna  gang  down  to  the  broom  nae  mair.*’ 

“ Whisht,  Effie,”  said  her  sister ; “ our  father’s 
coming  out  o’  the  byre.”  — The  damsel  stinted  in 
her  song.  — “ Whare  hae  ye  been  sae  late  at  e’en?  ” 

“ It’s  no  late,  lass,”  answered  Effie. 

“ It’s  chappit  eight  on  every  clock  o’  the  town, 
and  the  sun’s  gaun  down  ahint  the  Corstorphine 
hills  — Whare  can  ye  hae  been  sae  late  ? ” 

“ Nae  gate,”  answered  Effie. 

“ And  wha  was  that  parted  wi’  you  at  the  stile  ? ” 
“Naebody,”  replied  Effie,  once  more. 

“Nae  gate?  — Naebody?  — I wish  it  may.  be  a 
right  gate,  and  a right  body,  that  keeps  folk  out  sae 
late  at  e’en,  Effie.” 

“ What  needs  ye  be  aye  speering  then  at  folk  ? ” 
retorted  Effie.  “ I’m  sure,  if  ye’ll  ask  nae  ques- 
tions, I’ll  tell  ye  nae  lees.  I never  ask  what  brings 
the  Laird  of  Dumbiedikes  glowering  here  like  a 
wull-cat,  (only  his  een’s  greener,  and  no  sae  gleg,) 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN. 


139 


day  after  day,  till  we  are  a'  like  to  gaunt  our 
chafts  aff.” 

“ Because  ye  ken  very  weel  he  comes  to  see  our 
father,”  said  Jeanie,  in  answer  to  this  pert  remark. 

“ And  Dominie  Butler  — Does  he  come  to  see  our 
father,  that's  sae  taen  wi'  his  Latin  words  ? ” said 
Effie,  delighted  to  find  that,  by  carrying  the  war 
into  the  enemy's  country,  she  could  divert  the 
threatened  attack  upon  herself,  and  with  the  petu- 
lance of  youth  she  pursued  her  triumph  over  her 
prudent  elder  sister.  She  looked  at  her  with  a sly 
air,  in  which  there  was  something  like  irony,  as  she 
chanted,  in  a low  but  marked  tone,  a scrap  of  an  old 
Scotch  song  — 

“ Through  the  kirkyard 

I met  wi’  the  Laird, 

The  silly  puir  body  he  said  me  nae  harm ; 

But  just  ere  ’twas  dark, 

I met  wi’  the  clerk  ” 

Here  the  songstress  stopped,  looked  full  at  her 
sister,  and,  observing  the  tears  gather  in  her  eyes, 
she  suddenly  flung  her  arms  round  her  neck,  and 
kissed  them  away.  Jeanie,  though  hurt  and  dis- 
pleased, was  unable  to  resist  the  caresses  of  this 
untaught  child  of  nature,  whose  good  and  evil 
seemed  to  flow  rather  from  impulse  than  from 
reflection.  But  as  she  returned  the  sisterly  kiss, 
in  token  of  perfect  reconciliation,  she  could  not 
suppress  the  gentle  reproof  — “ Effie,  if  ye  will  learn 
fule  sangs,  ye  might  make  a kinder  use  of  them.” 

“And  so  I might,  Jeanie,”  continued  the  girl, 
clinging  to  her  sister's  neck ; “ and  I wish  I had 
never  learned  ane  o'  th«m — and  I wish  we  had 
never  come  here — -and  I wish  my  tongue  had  been 
blistered  or  I had  vexed  ye.” 


140 


TALES  OE  MY  LANDLORD. 


“ Never  mind  that,  Effie,”  replied  the  affectionate 
sister ; “ I canna  be  muckle  vexed  wi’  ony  thing  ye 
say  to  me  — but  0 dinna  vex  our  father  ! ” 

“ I will  not  — I will  not/’  replied  Effie  ; “ and  if 
there  were  as  mony  dances  the  morn’s  night  as  there 
are  merry  dancers  in  the  north  firmament  on  a frosty 
e’en,  I winna  budge  an  inch  to  gang  near  ane  o’ 
them.” 

Dance?”  echoed  Jeanie  Deans  in  astonishment 
“ 0,  Effie  what  could  take  ye  to  a dance  ? ” 

It  is  very  possible,  that,  in  the  communicative 
mood  into  which  the  Lily  of  St.  Leonard’s  was  now 
surprised,  she  might  have  given  her  sister  her  un- 
reserved confidence,  and  saved  me  the  pain  of  tell* 
ing  a melancholy  tale ; but  at  the  moment  the  word 
dance  was  uttered,  it  reached  the  ear  of  old  David  ! 
Deans,  who  had  turned  the  corner  of  the  house,  and 
came  upon  his  daughters  ere  they  were  aware  of  his 
present  The  word  prelate,  or  even  the  word  pope, 
could  hardly  have  produced  so  appalling  an  effect 
upon  David’s  ear ; for,  of  all  exercises,  that  of 
dancing,  which  he  * termed  a voluntary  and  regular 
fit  of  distraction,  he  deemed  most  destructive  of 
serious  thoughts,  and  the  readiest  inlet  to  all  sort 
of  licentiousness ; and  he  accounted  the  encourag- 
ing, and  even  permitting,  assemblies  or  meetings, 
whether  among  those  of  high  or  low  degree,  for 
this  fantastic  and  absurd  purpose,  or  for  that  of 
dramatic  representations,  as  one  of  the  most  fla- 
grant proofs  of  defection  and  causes  of  wrath.  The 
pronouncing  of  the  word  dance  by  his  own  daugh- 
ters, and  at  his  own  door,  now  drove  him  beyond 
the  verge  of  patience.  “ Dance ! ” he  exclaimed. 

“ Dance  ? — dance,  said  ye  ? I daur  ye,  limmers 
that  ye  are,  to  name  sic  a word  at  my  door-cheek 1 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN. 


141 


It’s  a dissolute  profane  pastime,  practised  by  the'" 
Israelites  only  at  their  base  and  brutal  worship  of 
the  Golden  Calf  at  Bethel,  and  by  the  unhappy  lass 
wha  danced  aff  the  head  of  John  the  Baptist,  upon 
whilk  chapter  I will  exercise  this  night  for  your 
farther  instruction,  since  ye  need  it  sae  muckle, 
nothing  doubting  that  she  has  cause  to  rue  the  day, 
lang  or  this  time,  that  e’er  she  suld  hae  shook  a limb 
on  sic  an  errand.  Better  for  her  to  hae  been  born  * 
a cripple,  and  carried  frae  door  to  door,  like  auld 
Bessie  Bowie,  begging  bawbees,  than  to  be  a king’s 
daughter,  fiddling  and  flinging  the  gate  she  did.  I 
hae  often  wondered  that  ony  ane  that  ever  bent  a 
knee  for  the  right  purpose,  should  ever  daur  to 
crook  a hough  to  fyke  and  fling  at  piper’s  wind  and 
fiddler’s  squealing.  And  I bless  God,  (with  that 
singular  worthy,  Peter  Walker  (g),  the  packman  at 
Bristo-Port J),  that  ordered  my  lot  in  my  dancing 
days,  so  that  fear  of  my  head  and  throat,  dread  of 
bloody  rope  and  swift  bullet,  and  trenchant  swords 
and  pain  of  boots  and  thumkins,  cauld  and  hunger, 
wetness  and  weariness,  stopped  the  lightness  of  my 
head,  and  the  wantonness  of  my  feet.  And  now,  if 
I hear  ye,  quean  lassies,  sae  muckle  as  name  danc- 
ing, or  think  there’s  sic  a thing  in  this  warld  as 
flinging  to  fiddler’s  sounds  and  piper’s  springs,  as 
sure  as  my  father’s  spirit  is  with  the  just,  ye  shall 
be  no  more  either  charge  or  concern  of  mine  ! Gang 
in,  then  — gang  in,  then,  hinnies,”  he  added,  in  a 
softer  tone,  for  the  tears  of  both  daughters,  but 
especially  those  of  Effie,  began  to  flow  very  fast, 
— “ Gang  in,  dears,  and  we’ll  seek  grace  to  preserve 
us  frae  all  manner  of  profane  folly,  whilk  causetb 


1 Note  V — Peter  Walker. 


142 


TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 


to  sin,  and  promoteth  the  kingdom  of  darkness, 
warring  with  the  kingdom  of  light.” 

The  objurgation  of  David  Deans,  however  well 
meant,  was  unhappily  timed.  It  created  a division 
of  feelings  in  Effie’s  bosom,  and  deterred  her  from 
her  intended  confidence  in  her  sister.  “ She  wad 
haud  me  nae  better  than  the  dirt  below  her  feet,”  said 
Effie  to  herself,  “ were  I to  confess  I hae  danced  wF 
him  four  times  on  the  green  down  by,  and  ance  at 
Maggie  Macqueen’s ; and  sheTl  maybe  hing  it  ower 
my  head  that  she’ll  tell  my  father,  and  then  she 
wad  be  mistress  and  mair.  But  I’ll  no  gang  back 
there  again.  I’m  resolved  I’ll  no  gang  back.  I’ll 
lay  in  a leaf  of  my  Bible, 1 and  that’s  very  near  as 
if  I had  made  an  aith,  that  I winna  gang  back.” 
And  she  kept  her  vow  for  a week,  during  which 
she  was  unusually  cross  and  fretful,  blemishes 
which  had  never  before  been  observed  in  her  temper, 
except  during  a moment  of  contradiction. 

There  was  something  in  all  this  so  mysterious  as 
considerably  to  alarm  the  prudent  and  affectionate 
Jeanie,  the  more  so  as  she  judged  it  unkind  to  her 
sister  to  mention  to  their  father  grounds  of  anxiety 
which  might  arise  from  her  own  imagination.  Be- 
sides, her  respect  for  the  good  old  man  did  not  pre- 
vent her  from  being  aware  that  he  was  both  hot- 
tempered  and  positive,  and  she  sometimes  suspected 
that  he  carried  his  dislike  to  youthful  amusements 
beyond  the  verge  that  religion  and  reason  demanded. 
Jeanie  had  sense  enough  to  see  that  a sudden  and 
severe  curb  upon  her  sister’s  hitherto  unrestrained 
freedom  might  be  rather  productive  of  harm  than 

1 This  custom,  of  making  a mark  by  folding  a leaf  in  the  party’s 
Bible  when  a solemn  resolution  is  formed,  is  still  held  to  be,  in 
some  sense,  an  appeal  to  Heaven  for  his  or  her  sincerity. 


THE  HEART  OE  MID-LOTIIIAN 


143 


good,  and  that  Effie,  in  the  headstrong  wilfulness 
of  youth,  was  likely  to  make  what  might  be  over- 
strained in  her  father’s  precepts  an  excuse  to  her- 
self for  neglecting  them  altogether.  In  the  higher 
classes,  a damsel,  however  giddy,  is  still  under  the 
dominion  of  etiquette,  and  subject  to  the  surveil- 
lance of  mammas  and  chaperons ; but  the  country 
girl,  who  snatches  her  moment  of  gaiety  during  the 
intervals  of  labour,  is  under  no  such  guardianship 
or  restraint,  and  her  amusement  becomes  so  much 
the  more  hazardous.  Jeanie  saw  all  this  with  much 
distress  of  mind,  when  a circumstance  occurred 
which  appeared  calculated  to  relieve  her  anxiety. 

Mrs.  Saddletree,  with  whom  our  readers  have 
already  been  made  acquainted,  chanced  to  be  a dis- 
tant relation  of  Douce  David  Deans,  and  as  she 
was  a woman  orderly  in  her  life  and  conversation, 
and,  moreover,  of  good  substance,  a sort  of  ac- 
quaintance was  formally  kept  up  between  the  fam- 
ilies. Now,  this  careful  dame,  about  a year  and 
a half  before  our  story  commences,  chanced  to 
need,  in  the  line  of  her  profession,  a better  sort  of 
servant,  or  rather  shop-woman.  “Mr.  Saddletree/’ 
she  said,  “ was  never  in  the  shop  when  he  could 
get  his  nose  within  the  Parliament  House,  and  it 
was  an  awkward  thing  for  a woman-body  to  be 
standing  among  bundles  o’  barkened  leather  her 
lane,  selling  saddles  and  bridles ; and  she  had  cast 
her  eyes  upon  her  far-awa  cousin  Effie  Deans,  as 
just  the  very  sort  of  lassie  she  would  want  to  keep 
her  in  countenance  on  such  occasions.” 

In  this  proposal  there  was  much  that  pleased  old 
David,  — there  was  bed,  board,  and  bountith  — it 
was  a decent  situation  — the  lassie  would  be  undei 
Mrs.  Saddletree’s  eye,  who  had  an  upright  walk 


144 


TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 


and  lived  close  by  the  Tolbootli  Kirk,  in  which 
might  still  be  heard  the  comforting  doctrines  of 
one  of  those  few  ministers  of  the  Kirk  of  Scotland 
who  had  not  bent  the  knee  unto  Baal,  according  to 
David’s  expression,  or  become  accessory  to  the 
course  of  national  defections,  — union,  toleration, 
patronages,  and  a bundle  of  prelatical  Erastian  oaths 
which  had  been  imposed  on  the  church  since  the 
Revolution,  and  particularly  in  the  reign  of  “ the 
late  woman,’'  (as  he  called  Queen  Anne,)  the  last 
of  that  unhappy  race  of  Stewarts.  In  the  good 
man’s  security  concerning  the  soundness  of  the 
theological  doctrine  which  his  daughter  was  to 
hear,  he  was  nothing  disturbed  on  account  of  the 
snares  of  a different  kind,  to  which  a creature  so 
beautiful,  young,  and  wilful,  might  be  exposed  in 
the  centre  of  a populous  and  corrupted  city.  The 
fact  is,  that  he  thought  with  so  much  horror  on  all 
approaches  to  irregularities  of  the  nature  most  to 
be  dreaded  in  such  cases,  that  he  would  as  soon 
have  suspected  and  guarded  against  Effie’s  being 
induced  to  become  guilty  of  the  crime  of  murder. 
He  only  regretted  that  she  should  live  under  the 
same  roof  with  such  a worldly-wise  man  as  Barto- 
line  Saddletree,  whom  David  never  suspected  of 
being  an  ass  as  he  was,  but  considered  as  one  really 
endowed  with  all  the  legal  knowledge  to  which 
he  made  pretension,  and  only  liked  him  the  worse 
for  possessing  it.  The  lawyers,  especially  those 
amongst  them  who  sate  as  ruling  elders  in  the 
General  Assembly  of  the  Kirk,  had  been  forward  in 
promoting  the  measures  of  patronage,  of  the  abju- 
ration oath,  and  others,  which,  in  the  opinion  of 
David  Deans,  were  a breaking  down  of  the  carved 
work  of  the  sanctuary,  and  an  intrusion  upon  the 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN*  145 

liberties  of  the  kirk.  Upon  the  dangers  of  listen- 
ing to  the  doctrines  of  a legalized  formalist,  such  as 
Saddletree,  David  gave  his  daughter  many  lectures ; 
so  much  so,  that  he  had  time  to  touch  but  slightly 
on  the  dangers  of  chambering,  company-keeping, 
and  promiscuous  dancing,  to  which,  at  her  time  of 
life,  most  people  would  have  thought  Effie  more 
exposed,  than  to  the  risk  of  theoretical  error  in  her 
religious  faith. 

Jeanie  parted  from  her  sister,  with  a mixed  feel- 
ing of  regret,  and  apprehension,  and  hope.  She 
could  not  be  so  confident  concerning  Effie’s  pru- 
dence as  her  father,  for  she  had  observed  her  more 
narrowly.  - had  more  sympathy  with  her  feelings, 
and  could  better  estimate  the  temptations  to  which 
she  was  exposed.  On  the  other  hand,  Mrs.  Sad- 
dletree was  an  observing,  shrewd,  notable  woman, 
entitled  to  exercise  over  Effie  the  full  authority  of 
a mistress,  and  likely  to  do  so  strictly,  yet  with 
Kindness.  Her  removal  to  Saddletree’s,  it  was 
most  probable,  would  also  serve  to  break  off  some 
idle  acquaintances,  which  Jeanie  suspected  her  sis- 
ter to  have  formed  in  the  neighbouring  suburb. 
Upon  the  whole,  then,  she  viewed  her  departure 
from  Saint  Leonard’s  with  pleasure,  and  it  was  not 
until  the  very  moment  of  their  parting  for  the  first 
time  in  their  lives,  that  she  felt  the  full  force  of 
sisterly  sorrow.  While  they  repeatedly  kissed  each 
other’s  cheeks,  and  wrung  each  other’s  hands, 
Jeanie  took  that  moment  of  affectionate  sympathy, 
to  press  upon  her  sister  the  necessity  of  the  utmost 
caution  in  her  conduct  while  residing  in  Edinburgh. 
Effie  listened,  without  once  raising  her  large  dark 
eyelashes,  from  which  the  drops  fell  so  fast  as  almost 
to  resemble  a fountain.  At  the  conclusion  she 


146 


TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 


sobbed  again,  kissed  her  sister,  promised  to  recol- 
lect all  the  good  counsel  she  had  given  her,  and 
they  parted. 

During  the  first  few  weeks,  Effie  was  all  that  her 
kinswoman  expected,  and  even  more.  But  with 
time  there  came  a relaxation  of  that  early  zeal 
which  she  manifested  in  Mrs.  Saddletree’s  service. 
To  borrow  once  again  from  the  poet,  who  so  cor- 
rectly and  beautifully  describes  living  manners,  — 

“ Something  there  was,  — what,  none  presumed  to  say,  — 
Clouds  lightly  passing  on  a summer's  day  ; 

Whispers  and  hints,  which  went  from  ear  to  ear, 

And  mix’d  reports  no  judge  on  earth  could  clear." 

During  this  interval,  Mrs.  Saddletree  was  sometimes 
displeased  by  Effie’s  lingering  when  she  was  sent 
upon  errands  about  the  shop  business,  and  some- 
times by  a little  degree  of  impatience  which  she 
manifested  at  being  rebuked  on  such  occasions.  ; 
But  she  good-naturedly  allowed,  that  the  first  was 
very  natural  to  a girl  to  whom  every  thing  in  Edin- 
burgh was  new,  and  the  other  was  only  the  petu- 
lance of  a spoiled  child,  when  subjected  to  the 
yoke  of  domestic  discipline  for  the  first  time.  At- 
tention and  submission  could  not  be  learned  at  , 
once  — Holy -Rood  was  not  built  in  a day  — use 
would  make  perfect.  j j 

It  seemed  as  if  the  considerate  old  lady  had  pre- 
saged truly.  Ere  many  months  had  passed,  Effie 
became  almost  wedded  to  her  duties,  though  she 
no  longer  discharged  them  with  the  laughing  cheek 
and  light  step,  which  at  first  had  attracted  every 
customer.  Her  mistress  sometimes  observed  her 
in  tears,  but  they  were  signs  of  secret  sorrow, 
which  she  concealed  as  often  as  she  saw  them  at- 
tract notice.  Time  wore  on,  her  cheek  grew  pale, 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN. 


147 


and  her  step  heavy.  The  cause  of  these  changes 
could  not  have  escaped  the  matronly  eye  of  Mrs. 
Saddletree,  but  she  was  chiefly  confined  by  indis- 
position to  her  bedroom  for  a considerable  time 
during  the  latter  part  of  Eflie’s  service.  This  in- 
terval was  marked  by  symptoms  of  anguish  almost 
amounting  to  despair.  The  utmost  efforts  of  the 
poor  girl  to  command  her  fits  of  hysterical  agony 
were  often  totally  unavailing,  and  the  mistakes 
which  she  made  in  the  shop  the  while  were  so  nu- 
merous and  so  provoking,  that  Bartoline  Saddle- 
tree, who,  during  his  wife’s  illness,  was  obliged  to 
take  closer  charge  of  the  business  than  consisted 
with  his  study  of  the  weightier  matters  of  the  law, 
lost  all  patience  with  the  girl,  who,  in  his  law  Latin, 
and  without  much  respect  to  gender,  he  declared 
ought  to  be:  cognosced  by  inquest  of  a jury,  as 
fatuus,  furiosus,  and  naturaliter  idiota.  Neigh- 
bours, also,  and  fellow-servants,  remarked,  with 
malicious  curiosity  or  degrading  pity,  the  disfigured 
shape,  loose  dress,  and  pale  cheeks,  of  the  once 
beautiful  and  still  interesting  girl.  But  to  no  one 
would  she  grant  her  confidence,  answering  all  taunts 
with  bitter  sarcasm,  and  all  serious  expostulation 
with  sullen  denial,  or  with  floods  of  tears. 

At  length,  when  Mrs.  Saddletree’s  recovery  was 
likely  to  permit  her  wonted  attention  to  the  regu- 
lation of  her  household,  Effie  Deans,  as  if  unwilling 
to  face  an  investigation  made  by  the  authority  of 
her  mistress,  asked  permission  of  Bartoline  to  go 
home  for  a week  or  two,  assigning  indisposition, 
and  the  wish  of  trying  the  benefit  of  repose  and  the 
change  of  air,  as  the  motives  of  her  request.  Sharp- 
eyed  as  a lynx  (or  conceiving  himself  to  be  so)  in 
the  nice  sharp  quillits  of  legal  discussion,  Bartoline 


i4S 


TALES  OE  MY  LANDLORD. 


was  as  dull  at  drawing  inferences  from  the  occur- 
rences of  common  life  as  any  Dutch  professor  of 
mathematics.  He  suffered  Effie  to  depart  without 
much  suspicion,  and  without  any  enquiry. 

It  was  afterwards  found  that  a period  of  a week 
intervened  betwixt  her  leaving  her  master’s  house 
and  arriving  at  St.  Leonard’s.  She  made  her  ap- 
pearance before  her  sister  in  a state  rather  resem- 
bling the  spectre  than  tire  living  substance  of  the 
gay  and  beautiful  girl,  who  had  left  her  father’s 
cottage  for  the  first  time  scarce  seventeen  months 
before.  The  lingering  illness  of  her  mistress  had, 
for  the  last  few  months,  given  her  a plea  for  con- 
fining herself  entirely  to  the  dusky  precincts  of  the 
shop  in  the  Lawnmarket,  and  Jeanie  vvms  so  much 
occupied,  during  the  same  period,  with  the  con- 
cerns of  her  father’s  household,  that  she  had  rarely 
found  leisure  for  a walk  into  the  city,  and  a brief 
and  hurried  visit  to  her  sister.  The  young  women, 
therefore,  had  scarcely  seen  each  other  for  several 
months,  nor  had  a single  scandalous  surmise  reached 
the  ears  of  the  secluded  inhabitants  of  tRe  cottage 
at  St.  Leonard’s.  Jeanie,  therefore,  terrified  to  death 
at  her  sister’s  appearance,  at  first  overwhelmed  her  - 
with  enquiries,  to  which  the  unfortunate  young 
woman  returned  for  a time  incoherent  and  rambling 
answers,  and  finally  fell  into  a hysterical  fit.  Ren- 
dered too  certain  of  her  sister’s  misfortune,  Jeanie 
had  now  the  dreadful  alternative  of  communicating 
her  ruin  to  her  father,  or  of  endeavouring  to  con- 
ceal it  from  him.  To  all  questions  concerning  the 
name  or  rank  of  her  seducer^  and  the  fate  of  the 
being  to  whom  her  fall  had  given  birth,  Effie  re- 
mained mute  as  the  grave,  to  which  she  seemed 
hastening  ; and  indeed  the  least  allusion  to  either 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTIIIAN. 


i49 


seemed  to  drive  her  to  distraction.  Her  sister,  in 
distress  and  in  despair,  was  about  to  repair  to  Mrs. 
Saddletree  to  consult  her  experience,  and  at  the 
same  time  to  obtain  what  lights  she  could  upon 
this  most  unhappy  affair,  when  she  was  saved  that 
trouble  by  a new  stroke  of  fate,  which  seemed  to 
carry  misfortune  to  the  uttermost. 

David  Deans  had  been  alarmed  at  the  state  of 
health  in  which  his  daughter  had  returned  to  her 
paternal  residence  ; vbut  Jeanie  had  contrived  to 
divert  him  from  particular  and  specific  enquiry.  It 
was,  therefore,  like  a clap  of  thunder  to  the  poor 
old  man,  when,  just  as  the  hour  of  noon  had  brought 
the  visit  of  the  Laird  of  Dumbiedikes  as  usual,  other 
and  sterner,  as  well  as  most  unexpected  guests,  ar- 
rived at  the  cottage  of  St.  Leonard’s.  These  were 
the  officers  of  justice,  with  a warrant  of  justiciary 
to  search  for  and  apprehend  Euphemia,  or  Effie, 
Deans,  accused  of  the  crime  of  child-murder.  The 
stunning  weight  of  a blow  so  totally  unexpected 
bore  down  the  old  man,  who  had  in  his  early  youth 
resisted  the  brow  of  military  and  civil  tyranny, 
though  backed  with  swords  and  guns,  tortures  and 
gibbets.  He  fell  extended  and  senseless  upon  his 
own  hearth;  and  the  men,  happy  to  escape  from 
the  scene  of  his  awakening,  raised,  with  rude  hu- 
manity, the  object  of  their  warrant  from  her  bed, 
and  placed  her  in  a coach,  which  they  had  brought 
with  them.  The  hasty  remedies  which  Jeanie  had 
applied  to  bring  back  her  father’s  senses  were  scarce 
begun  to  operate,  when  the  noise  of  the  wheels  in 

I motion  recalled  her  attention  to  her  miserable  sis- 
ter. To  run  shrieking  after  the  carriage  was  the 
first  vain  effort  of  her  distraction,  but  she  was 
stopped  by  one  or  two  female  neighbours,  assembled 


TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 


150 


by  the  extraordinary  appearance  of  a coach  in  that 
sequestered  place,  who  almost  forced  her  back  to 
her  father’s  house.  The  deep  and  sympathetic  afflic- 
tion of  these  poor  people,  by  whom  the  little  family 
at  St.  Leonard’s  were  held  in  high  regard,  filled  the 
house  with  lamentation.  Even  Dumbiedikes  was 
moved  from  his  wonted  apathy,  and,  groping  for 
his  purse  as  he  spoke,  ejaculated,  “ Jeanie,  woman  ! 

— Jeanie,  woman  ! dinna  greet  — it’s  sad  wark,  but 
siller  will  help  it ; ” and  he  drew  out  his  purse  as 
he  spoke. 

The  old  man  had  now  raised  himself  from  the 
ground,  and,  looking  about  him  as  if  he  missed 
something,  seemed  gradually  to  recover  the  sense 
of  his  wretchedness.  “ Where,”  he  said,  with  a 
voice  that  made  the  roof  ring,  “ where  is  the  vile 
harlot,  that  has  disgraced  the  blood  of  an  honest 
man  ? — Where  is  she,  that  has  no  place  among  us, , 
but  has  come  foul  with  her  sins,  like  the  Evil  One, 
among  the  children  of  God  ? — Where  is  she,  Jeanie  ? 

— Bring  her  before  me,  that  I may  kill  her  with  a 
word  and  a look  ! ” 

All  hastened  around  him  with  their  appropriate 
sources  of  consolation  - — the  Laird  with  his  purse  l 
Jeanie  with  burnt  feathers  and  strong  waters,  and*5 
the  women  with  their  exhortations.  “O  neighbour 

— O Mr.  Deans,  it’s  a sair  trial,  doubtless  — but 
think  of  the  Rock  of  Ages,  neighbour  — think  of 
the  promise  ! ” 

“ And  I do  think  of  it,  neighbours  — and  I bless 
God  that  I can  think  of  it,  even  in  the  wrack  and 
ruin  of  a’  that’s  nearest  and  dearest  to  me  — But  to 
be  the  father  of  a cast-away  - — a profligate  — a bloody 
Zipporah  — a mere  murderess  ! — 0,  how  will  the 
wicked  exult  in  the  high  places  of  their  wickedness  f 


X/  s 


d 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN. 


151 

— the  prelatists,  and  the  latitudinarians,  and  the 
hand-waled  murderers,  whose  hands  are  hard  as 
horn  wi’  hauding  the  slaughter- weapons  — they  will 
push  out  the  lip,  and  say  that  we  are  even  such  as 
themselves.  Sair,  sair  I am  grieved,  neighbours, 
for  the  poor  cast-away  — for  the  chik  of  mine  old 
age  — but  sairer  for  the  stumbling-block  and  scandal 
it  will  be  to  all  tender  and  honest  souls  ! ” 

“ Davie  — winna  siller  do’t  ? ” insinuated  the 
Laird,  still  proffering  his  green  purse,  which  was 
full  of  guineas. 

“I  tell  ye,  Dumbiedikes,”  said  Deans,  “ that  if 
telling  down  my  haill  substance  could  hae  saved 
her  frae  this  black  snare,  I wad  hae  walked  out  wi’ 
naething  but  my  bonnet  and  my  staff  to  beg  an 
awmous  for  God’s  sake,  and  ca’d  mysell  an  happy 
man  — But  if  a dollar,  or  a plack,  or  the  nineteenth 
part  of  a boddle,  wad  save  her  open  guilt  and  open 
shame  frae  open  punishment,  that  purchase  wad 
David  Deans  never  make  ! — Na,  na  ; an  eye  for  an 
eye,  a tooth  for  a tooth,  life  for  life,  blood  for  blood 

— it’s  the  law  of  man,  and  it’s  the  law  of  God.  — 
Leave  me,  sirs  — leave  me  — I maun  warstle  wi’ 
this  trial  in  privacy  and  on  my  knees.” 

Jeanie,  now  in  some  degree  restored  to  the 
power  of  thought,  joined  in  the  same  request.  The 
next  day  found  the  father  and  daughter  still  in  the 
depth  of  affliction,  but  the  father  sternly  support- 
ing his  load  of  ill  through  a proud  sense  of  religious 
duty,  and  the  daughter  anxiously  suppressing  her 
own  feelings  to  avoid  again  awakening  his.  Thus 
was  it  with  the  afflicted  family  until  the  morning 
after  Porteous’s  death,  a period  at  which  we  are 
now  arrived. 


CHAPTER  XL 


Is  all  the  counsel  that  we  two  have  shared, 

The  sisters’  vows,  the  hours  that  we  have  spent 
When  we  have  chid  the  hasty-footed  time 
For  parting  us  — Oh  ! and  is  all  forgot? 

Midsummer  Night's  Dream. 


We  have  been  a long  while  in  conducting  Butler 
to  the  door  of  the  cottage  at  St.  Leonard’s  ; yet  the 
space  which  we  have  occupied  in  the  preceding 
narrative  does  not  exceed  in  length  that  which  he 
actually  spent  on  Salisbury  Crags  on  the  morning 
which  succeeded  the  execution  done  upon  Porteous  ’ 
by  the  rioters.  For  this  delay  he  had  his  own  mo- 
tives. He  wished  to  collect  his  thoughts,  strangely 
agitated  as  they  were,  first  by  the  melancholy  news 
of  Effie  Deans’s  situation,  and  afterwards  by  the 
frightful  scene  which  he  had  witnessed.  In  the 
situation  also  in  which  he  stood  with  respect  to 
Jeanie  and  her  father,  some  ceremony,  at  least 
some  choice  of  fitting  time  and  season,  was  neces- 
sary to  wait  upon  them.  Eight  in  the  morning 
was  then  the  ordinary  hour  for  breakfast,  and  he 
resolved  that  it  should  arrive  before  he  made  his 
appearance  in  their  cottage. 

Never  did  hours  pass  so  heavily.  Butler  shifted 
his  place  and  enlarged  his  circle  to  while  away  the 
time,  and  heard  the  huge  bell  of  St.  Giles’s  toll  each 
successive  hour  in  swelling  tones,  which  were  in- 
stantly attested  by  those  of  the  other  steeples  in 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN. 


*53 


succession.  He  had  heard  seven  struck  in  this  man- 
ner, when  he  began  to  think  he  might  venture  to 
approach  nearer  to  St.  Leonard’s,  from  which  he 
was  still  a mile  distant.  Accordingly  he  descended 
from  his  lofty  station  as  low  as  the  bottom  of 
the  valley  which  divides  Salisbury  Crags  from  those 
small  rocks  which  take  their  name  from  Saint  Leo- 
nard. It  is,  as  many  of  my  readers  may  know,  a 
deep,  wild,  grassy  valley,  scattered  with  huge  rocks 
and  fragments  which  have  descended  from  the  cliffs 
and  steep  ascent  to  the  east. 

This  sequestered  dell,  as  well  as  other  places  of 
the  open  pasturage  of  the  King’s  Park,  was,  about 
this  time,  often  the  resort  of  the  gallants  of  the  time 
who  had  affairs  of  honour  (A)  to  discuss  with  the 
sword.  Duels  were  then  very  common  in  Scotland, 
for  the  gentry  were  at  once  idle,  haughty,  fierce, 
divided  by  faction,  and  addicted  to  intemperance, 
so  that  there  lacked  neither  provocation,  nor  inclina- 
tion to  resent  it  when  given  ; and  the  sword,  which 
was  part  of  every  gentleman’s  dress,  was  the  only 
weapon  used  for  the  decision  of  such  differences. 
When,  therefore,  Butler  observed  a young  man, 
skulking,  apparently  to  avoid  observation,  among 
the  scattered  rocks  at  some  distance  from  the  foot- 
path, he  was  naturally  led  to  suppose  that  he  had 
sought  this  lonely  spot  upon  that  evil  errand.  He 
was  so  strongly  impressed  with  this,  that,  notwith- 
standing his  own  distress  of  mind,  he  could  not, 
according  to  his  sense  of  duty  as  a clergyman,  pass 
this  person  without  speaking  to  him.  There  are 
times,  thought  he  to  himself,  when  the  slightest  in- 
terference may  avert  a great  calamity  — when  a 
Word  spoken  in  season  may  do  more  for  preven- 
tion than  the  eloquence  of  Tully  could  do  for  rem- 


154 


TALES  OE  MY  LANDLORD. 


edying  evil  — And  for  my  own  griefs,  be  they  as 
they  may,  I shall  feel  them  the  lighter,  if  they  di- 
vert me  not  from  the  prosecution  of  my  duty. 

Thus  thinking  and  feeling,  he  quitted  the  ordi- 
nary path,  and  advanced  nearer  the  object  he  had 
noticed.  The  man  at  first  directed  his  course 
towards  the  hill,  in  order,  as  it  appeared,  to  avoid 
him ; but  when  he  saw  that  Butler  seemed  disposed 
to  follow  him,  he  adjusted  his  hat  fiercely,  turned 
round,  and  came  forward,  as  if  to  meet  and  defy 
scrutiny. 

Butler  had  an  opportunity  of  accurately  studying 
his  features  as  they  advanced  slowly  to  meet  each 
other.  The  stranger  seemed  about  twenty-five  years 
old.  His  dress  was  of  a kind  which  could  hardly 
be  said  to  indicate  his  rank  with,  certainty,  for  it 
was  such  as  young  gentlemen  sometimes  wore  while 
on  active  exercise  in  the  morning,  and  which,  there- ! 
fore,  was  imitated  by  those  of  the  inferior  ranks,  as 
young  clerks  and  tradesmen,  because  its  cheapness 
rendered  it  attainable,  while  it  approached  more 
nearly  to  the  apparel  of  youths  of  fashion  than  any 
other  which  the  manners  of  the  times  permitted 
them  to  wear.  If  his  air  and  manner  could  be, 
trusted,  however,  this  person  seemed  rather  to  be 
dressed  under  than  above  his  rank ; for  his  carriage 
was  bold  and  somewhat  supercilious,  his  step  easy 
and  free,  his  manner  daring  and  unconstrained. 
His  stature  was  of  the  middle  size,  or  rather  above 
it,  his  limbs  well-proportioned,  yet  not  so  strong  as 
to  infer  the  reproach  of  clumsiness.  His  features  i 
were  uncommonly  handsome,  and  all  about  him 
would  have  been  interesting  and  prepossessing,  but 
for  that  indescribable  expression  which  habitual  dis- 
sipation gives  to  the  countenance,  joined  with  a cer- 


THE  HEART  OE  MID-LOTIIIAN.  155 

tain  audacity  in  look  and  manner,  of  that  kind 
which  is  often  assumed  as  a mask  for  confusion  and 
apprehension. 

Butler  and  the  stranger  met  — surveyed  each 
other  — when,  as  the  latter,  slightly  touching  his 
hat,  was  about  to  pass  by  him,  Butler,  while  he  re- 
turned the  salutation,  observed,  “ A fine  morning,  sir 
— You  are  on  the  hill  early.” 

“ I have  business  here,”  said  the  young  man,  in  a 
tone  meant  to  repress  further  enquiry. 

“ I do  not  doubt  it,  sir,”  said  Butler.  “ I trust 
you  will  forgive  my  hoping  that  it  is  of  a lawful 
kind  ? ” 

“ Sir,”  said  the  other,  with  marked  surprise,  “ I 
never  forgive  impertinence,  nor  can  I conceive  what 
title  you  have  to  hope  any  thing  about  what  no  way 
concerns  you.” 

“I  am  a soldier,  sir,”  said  Butler,  “and  have 
a charge  to  arrest  evil-doers  in  the  name  of  my 
Master.” 

“ A soldier  ? ” said  the  young  man,  stepping  back, 
and  fiercely  laying  his  hand  on  his  sword  — “A  sol- 
dier, and  arrest  me  ? Did  you  reckon  what  your 
life  was  worth,  before  you  took  the  commission  upon 
you?” 

“You  mistake  me,  sir,”  said  Butler  gravely; 
“ neither  my  warfare  nor  my  warrant  are  of  this 
world.  I am  a preacher  of  the  gospel,  and  have 
power,  in  my  Master’s  name,  to  command  the  peace 
upon  earth  and  good-will  towards  men,  which  was 
proclaimed  with  the  gospel.” 

“ A minister !”  said  the  stranger,  carelessly,  and 
with  an  expression  approaching  to  scorn.  “ I know 
the  gentlemen  of  your  cloth  in  Scotland  claim  a 
strange  right  of  intermeddling  with  men’s  private 


,5 6 TALES  OE  MY  LANDLORD. 

affairs.  But  I have  been  abroad,  and  know  better 
than  to  be  priest-ridden.” 

“ Sir,  if  it  be  true  that  any  of  my  cloth,  or,  it 
might  be  more  decently  said,  of  my  calling,  interfere 
with  men’s  private  affairs,  for  the  gratification  either 
of  idle  curiosity,  or  for  worse  motives,  you  cannot 
have  learned  a better  lesson  abroad  than  to  contemn 
such  practices.  But,  in  my  Master’s  work,  I am 
called  to  be  busy  in  season  and  out  of  season ; and, 
conscious  as  I am  of  a pure  motive,  it  were  better 
for  me  to  incur  your  contempt  for  speaking,  than 
the  correction  of  my  own  conscience  for  being 
silent.” 

“In  the  name  of  the  devil!”  said  the  young  man 
impatiently,  “say  what  you  have  to  say,  then;; 
though  whom  you  take  me  for,  or  what  earthly  con- 
cern you  can  have  with  me,  a stranger  to  you,  or 
with  my  actions  and  motives,  of  which  you  can  know' 
nothing,  I cannot  conjecture  for  an  instant.” 

“ You  are  about,”  said  Butler,  “ to  violate  one  of 
your  country’s  wisest  laws  — you  are  about,  which 
is  much  more  dreadful,  to  violate  a law,  which  God; 
himself  has  implanted  within  our  nature,  and  writ-; 
ten,  as  it  were,  in  the  table  of  our  hearts,  to  which 
every  thrill  of  our  nerves  is  responsive.”  j 

“ And  what  is  the  law  you  speak  of  ? ” said  the 
stranger,  in  a hollow  and  somewhat  disturbed 
accent. 

“ Thou  shalt  do  no  murder,”  said  Butler,  with  a 
deep  and  solemn  voice. 

The  young  man  visibly  started,  and  looked  con- 
siderably appalled.  Butler  perceived  he  had  made 
a favourable  impression,  and  resolved  to  follow  it 
up.  “Think,”  he  said,  “young  man,”  laying  his 
hand  kindly  upon  the  stranger’s  shoulder,  “what  ar 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN. 


157 


awful  alternative  you  voluntarily  choose  for  your- 
self, to  kill  or  be  killed.  Think  what  it  is  to  rush 
uncalled  into  the  presence  of  an  offended  Deity,  your 
heart  fermenting  with  evil  passions,  your  hand  hot 
from  the  steel  you  had  been  urging,  with  your  best 
skill  and  malice,  against  the  breast  of  a fellow-crea- 
ture. Or,  suppose  yourself  the  scarce  less  wretched 
survivor,  with  the  guilt  of  Cain,  the  first  murderer, 
in  your  heart,  with  his  stamp  upon  your  brow  — that 
stamp,  which  struck  all  who  gazed  on  him  with  unut- 
terable horror,  and  by  which  the  murderer  is  made 

manifest  to  all  who  look  upon  him.  Think  ” 

The  stranger  gradually  withdrew  himself  from 
under  the  hand  of  his  monitor ; and,  pulling  his  hat 
over  his  brows,  thus  interrupted  him.  “ Your  mean- 
ing, sir,  I daresay,  is  excellent,  but  you  are  throw- 
ing your  advice  away.  I am  not  in  this  place  with 
violent  intentions  against  any  one.  I may  be  bad 
enough  — you  priests  say  all  men  are  so  — but  I am 
here  for  the  purpose  of  saving  life,  not  of  taking  it 
away.  If  you  wish  to  spend  your  time  rather  in 
doing  a good  action  than  in  talking  about  you  know 
not  what,  I will  give  you  an  opportunity.  Do  you 
see  yonder  crag  to  the  right,  over  which  appears  the 
chimney  of  a lone  house  ? Go  thither,  enquire  for 
one  Jeanie  Deans,  the  daughter  of  the  good-man; 
let  her  know  that  he  she  wots  of  remained  here 
from  daybreak  till  this  hour,  expecting  to  see  her, 
and  that  he  can  abide  no  longer.  Tell  her,  she  must 
meet  me  at  the  Hunter’s  Bog  to-night,  as  the  moon 
rises  behind  St.  Anthony’s  Hill,  or  that  she  will 
make  a desperate  man  of  me.” 

“Who,  or  what  are  you,”  replied  Butler,  exceed- 
ingly and  most  unpleasantly  surprised,  “ who  charge 
me  with  such  an  errand  ? ” 


TALES  OE  MY  LANDLORD* 


158 

“ I am  the  devil ! ” answered  the  young  man 

hastily. 

Butler  stepped  instinctively  back,  and  commended 
himself  internally  to  Heaven  ; for,  though  a wise 
and  strong-minded  man,  he  was  neither  wiser  nor 
more  strong-minded  than  those  of  his  age  and  educa- 
tion, with  whom,  to  disbelieve  witchcraft  or  spec- 
tres, was  held  an  undeniable  proof  of  atheism. 

The  stranger  went  on  without  observing  his  emo- 
tion. “ Yes  ! call  me  Apollyon,  Abaddon,  whatever 
name  you  shall  choose,  as  a clergyman  acquainted 
with  the  upper  and  lower  circles  of  spiritual  denom- 
ination, to  call  me  by,  you  shall  not  find  an  appella- 
tion more  odious  to  him  that  bears  it,  than  is  mine 
own.” 

This  sentence  was  spoken  with  the  bitterness  of 
self-upbraiding,  and  a contortion  of  visage  absolutely 
demoniacal.  Butler,  though  a man  brave  by  princi- 
ple, if  not  by  constitution,  was  overawed ; for  inten- 
sity of  mental  distress  has  in  it  a sort  of  sublimity 
which  repels  and  overawes  all  men,  but  especially 
those  of  kind  and  sympathetic  dispositions.  The 
stranger  turned  abruptly  from  Butler  as  he  spoke, 
but  instantly  returned,  and,  coming  up  to  him  ; 
closely  and  boldly,  said,  in  a fierce^  determined  tone,  ; 
“ I have  told  you  who  and  what  I am  — who,  and 
what  are  you  ? What  is  your  name  ? ” 

“Butler,”  answered  the  person  to  whom  this 
abrupt  question  was  addressed,  surprised  into 
answering  it  by  the  sudden  and  fierce  manner  of 
the  querist  — “Reuben  Butler,  a preacher  of  the 
gospel.” 

At  this  answer,  the  stranger  again  plucked  more 
deep  over  his  brows  the  hat  which  he  had  thrown 
back  in  his  former  agitation.  “ Butler ! ” he  re- 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN. 


l59 


peated,  — “ the  assistant  of  the  schoolmaster  at 
Libberton  ? ” 

“ The  same,”  answered  Butler,  composedly. 

The  stranger  covered  his  face  with  his  hand,  as  if 
on  sudden  reflection,  and  then  turned  away,  but 
stopped  when  he  had  walked  a few  paces ; and  see- 
ing Butler  follow  him  with  his  eyes,  called  out  in 
a stern  yet  suppressed  tone,  just  as  if  he  had  exactly 
calculated  that  his  accents  should  not  be  heard  a 
yard  beyond  the  spot  on  which  Butler  stood.  “ Go 
your  way,  and  do  mine  errand.  Do  not  look  after 
me.  I will  neither  descend  through  the  bowels  of 
these  rocks,  nor  vanish  in  a flash  of  fire  ; and  yet 
the  eye  that  seeks  to  trace  my  motions  shall  have 
reason  to  curse  it  was  ever  shrouded  by  eyelid  or 
eyelash.  Begone,  and  look  not  behind  you.  Tell 
Jeanie  Deans,  that  when  the  moon  rises  I shall  ex- 
pect to  meet  her  at  NjcoDMuschntls  Cairn,  beneath 
Saint  Anthony's  Chapel.” 

As  he  uttered  these  words,  he  turned  and  took 
the  road  against  the  hill,  with  a haste  that  seemed 
as  peremptory  as  his  tone  of  authority. 

Dreading  he  knew  not  what  of  additional  misery 
to  a lot  which  seemed  little  capable  of  receiving 
augmentation,  and  desperate  at  the  idea  that  any 
living  man  should  dare  to  send  so  extraordinary  a 
request,  couched  in  terms  so  imperious,  to  the  half- 
betrothed  object  of  his  early  and  only  affection, 
Butler  strode  hastily  towards  the  cottage,  in  order 
to  ascertain  how  far  this  daring  and  rude  gallant 
was  actually  entitled  to  press  on  Jeanie  Deans  a 
request,  which  no  prudent,  and  scarce  any  modest 
young  woman,  was  likely  to  comply  with. 

Butler  was  by  nature  neither  jealous  nor  super- 
stitious ; yet  the  feelings  which  lead  to  those  moods 


i6o 


TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 


of  the  mind  were  rooted  in  his  heart,  as  a por- 
tion derived  from  the  common  stock  of  humanity. 
It  was  maddening  to  think  that  a profligate  gal- 
lant, such  as  the  manner  and  tone  of  the  stranger 
evinced  him  to  be,  should  have  it  in  his  power  to 
command  forth  his  future  bride  and  plighted  true 
love,  at  a place  so  improper,  and  an  hour  so  unsea- 
sonable. Yet  the  tone  in  which  the  stranger  spoke 
had  nothing  of  the  soft  half-breathed  voice  proper 
to  the  seducer  who  solicits  an  assignation ; it  was 
bold,  fierce,  and  imperative,  and  had  less  of  love  in 
it  than  of  menace  and  intimidation. 

The  suggestions  of  superstition  seemed  more 
plausible,  had  Butler’s  mind  been  very  accessible 
to  them.  Was  this  indeed  the  Soaring  Lion,  who 
goeth  about  seeking  whom  he  may  devour  ? This 
was  a question  which  pressed  itself  on  Butler’s  mind 
with  an  earnestness  that  cannot  be  conceived  by 


the  abrupt  demeanour,  the  occasionally  harsh,  yet 
studiously  subdued  tone  of  voice, — the  features, 
handsome,  but  now  clouded  with  pride,  now  dis- 
turbed by  suspicion,  now  inflamed  with  passion  — 
those  dark  hazel  eyes  which  he  sometimes  shaded 
with  his  cap,  as  if  he  were  averse  to  have  them  seen 
while  they  were  occupied  with  keenly  observing  the 
motions  and  bearing  of  others  — those  eyes  that  were 
now  turbid  with  melancholy,  now  gleaming  with 
scorn,  and  now  sparkling  with  fury  — was  it  the 
passions  of  a mere  mortal  they  expressed,  or  the 
emotions  of  a fiend,  who  seeks,  and  seeks  in  vain,  to 
conceal  his  fiendish  designs  under  the  borrowed  mask 
of  manly  beauty  ? The  whole  partook  of  the  mien, 
language,  and  port  of  the  ruined  archangel ; and, 
imperfectly  as  we  have  been  able  to  describe  it,  the 


present  day.  The  fierjywe, 


THE  HEART  OE  MID-LOTHIAN.  161 

effect  of  the  interview  upon  Butler’s  nerves,  shaken 
as  they  were  at  the  time  by  the  horrors  of  the  pre- 
ceding night,  were  greater  than  his  understanding 
warranted,  or  his  pride  cared  to  submit  to.  The 
very  place  where  he  had  met  this  singular  person 
was  desecrated,  as  it  were,  and  unhallowed,  owing 
to  many  violent  deaths,  both  in  duels  and  by  suicide] 
which  had  in  former  times  taken  place  there  ; and 
the  place  which  he  had  named  as  a rendezvous  at 
so  late  an  hour,  was  held  in  general  to  be  accursed, 
from  a frightful  and  cruel  murder  which  had  been 
there  committed  by  the  wretch  from  whom  the  place 
took  its  name,  upon  the  person  of  his  own  wife.1  It 
was  in  such  places,  according  to  the  belief  of  that 
period,  (when  the  laws  against  witchcraft  were  still 
in  fresh  observance,  and  had  even  lately  been  acted 
upon,)  that  evil  spirits  had  power  to  make  them- 
selves visible  to  human  eyes,  and  to  practise  upon 
the  feelings  and  senses  of  mankind.  Suspicions, 
founded  on  such  circumstances,  rushed  on  Butler’s 
mind,  unprepared  as  it  was,  by  any  previous  course 
of  reasoning,  to  deny  that  which  all  of  his  time, 
countiy , and  profession,  believed;  but  common  sense 
rejected  these  vain  ideas  as  inconsistent,  if  not  with 
possibility,  at  least  with  the  general  rules  by  which 
the  universe  is  governed,  — a deviation  from  which 
as  Butler  well  argued  with  himself,  ought  not  to  be 
admitted  as  probable,  upon  any  but  the  plainest  and 
most  incontrovertible  evidence.  An  earthly  lover 
however,  or  a young  man,  who,  from  whatever  cause] 
had  the  right  of  exercising  such  summary  and  un- 
ceremonious authority  over  the  object  of  his  long- 
settled,  and  apparently  sincerely  returned  affection, 

1 Note  VT.  — Muschat’s  Cairn. 


1 62  TALES  OE  MY  LANDLOM). 

was  an  object  scarce  less  appalling  to  his  mind,  than 
those  which  superstition  suggested. 

His  limbs  exhausted  with  fatigue,  his  mind  har- 
assed with  anxiety,  and  with  painful  doubts  and 
recollections,  Butler  dragged  himself  up  the  ascent 
from  the  valley  to  Saint  Leonard’s  Crags,  and  pre- 
sented himself  at  the  door  of  Deans’s  habitation, 
with  feelings  much  akin  to  the  miserable  reflections 
and  fears  of  its  inhabitants. 


CHAPTER  XII. 


Then  she  stretch’d  out  her  lily  hand. 

And  for  to  do  her  best ; 

“ Hae  back  thv  faith  and  troth,  Willie, 

God  gie  thy  soul  good  rest ! ” 

Old  Ballad , 


“ Come  in,”  answered  the  low  and  sweet-toned 
voice  he  loved  best  to  hear,  as  Butler  tapped  at 
the  door  of  the  cottage.  He  lifted  the  latch,  and 
found  himself  under  the  roof  of  affliction.  Jeanie 
was  unable  to  trust  herself  with  more  than  one 
glance  towards  her  lover,  whom  she  now  met  under 
circumstances  so  agonizing  to  her  feelings,  and  at 
the  same  time  so -humbling  to  her  honest  pride.^Jt 
is  well  known,  that  much,  both  of  what  is  good  and 
bad  in  the  Scottish  national  character,  arises  out  of 
the  intimacy  of  their  family  connexions.^  “ To  be 
come  of  honest  folk,”  that  is,  of  people  who  have 
borne  a fair  and : unstained  reputation,  is  an  advan- 
tage as  highly  prized  among  the  lower  Scotch,  as 
the  emphatic  counterpart,  “ to  be  of  ajgood  family,” 
is  valued  among  their  gentry!]  The  worth  and  re- 
spectability of  one  member  of  a peasant’s  family  is 
always  accounted  by  themselves  and  others,  not 
only  a matter  of  honest  pride,  but  a guarantee  for 
the  gnCd  conduct  of  the  whole.  On  the  contrary, 
such  a melancholy  stain  as  was  now  flung  on  one 
of  the  children  of  Deans,  extended  its  disgrace  to 
all  connected  with  him,  and  Jeanie  felt  herself  low- 


164 


TALES  OE  MY  LANDLORD. 


ered  at  once,  in  her  own  eyes,  and  in  those  of  her 
lover.  It  was  in  vain  that  she  repressed  this  feel- 
ing, as  far  subordinate  and  too  selfish  to  be  mingled 
with  her  sorrow  for  her  sister’s  calamity.  ' Nature 
prevailed ; and  while  she  shed  tears  for  her  sister’s 
distress  and  danger,  there  mingled  with  them  bitter 
drops  of  grief  for  her  own  degradation. 

As  Butler  entered,  the  old  man  was  seated  by  the 
fire  with  his  well-worn  pocket  Bible  in  his  hands, 
the  companion  of  the  wanderings  and  dangers  of 
his  youth,  and  bequeathed  to  him  on  the  scaffold 
by  one  of  those,  who,  in  the  year  1686,  sealed 
their  enthusiastic  principles  with  their  blood.  The 
sun  sent  its  rays  through  a small  window  at  the  old 
man’s  back,  and,  “ shining  motty  through  the  reek, 
to  use  the  expression  of  a bard  of  that  time  and 
country,  illumined  the  grey  hairs  of  the  old  man, 
and  the  sacred  page  which  he  studied.  His  features, 
far  from  handsome,  and  rather  harsh  and  severe,  had 
yet,  from  their  expression  of  habitual  gravity,  and 
contempt  for  earthly  things,  an  expression  of  stoical 
dignity  amidst  their  sternness.  He  boasted,  in  no 
small  degree,  the  attributes  which  Southey  ascribes 
to  the  ancient  Scandinavians,  whom  he  terms  " firm 
to  inflict,  and  stubborn  to  endure.”  The  whole 
formed  a picture,  of  which  the  lights  might  have 
been  given  by  Rembrandt,  but  the  outline  would 
have  required  the  force  and  vigour  of  Michael 
Angelo. 

Deans  lifted  his  eye  as  Butler  entered,  and  in- 
stantly withdrew  it,  as  from  an  object  which  gave 
him  at  once  surprise  and  sudden  pain.  He  had 
assumed  such  high  ground  with  this  c&rnal-witted 
scholar,  as  he  had  in  his  pride  termed  Butler,  that 
to  meet  him  of  all  men,  under  feelings  of  humilia- 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN. 


165 

tion,  aggravated  his  misfortune,  and  was  a consum- 
mation like  that  of  the  dying  chief  in  the  old  ballad 
— “ Earl  Percy  sees  my  fall ! ” . 

Deans  raised  the  Bible  with  his  left  hand,  so  as 
partly  to  screen  his  face,  and  putting  back  his  right 
as  far  as  he  could,  held  it  towards  Butler  in  that 
position,  at  the  same  time  turning  his  body  from 
him,  as  if  to  prevent  his  seeing  the  working  of  his 
countenance.  Butler  clasped  the  extended  hand 
which  had  supported  his  orphan  infancy,  wept  over 
it,  and  in  vain  endeavoured  to  say  more  than  the 
words  — “ God  comfort  you  — God  comfort  you  ! ” 

“ He  will  — he  doth,  my  friend,1 ” said  Deans, 
assuming  firmness  as  he  discovered  the  agitation  of 
his  guest ; “ he  doth  now,  and  he  will  yet  more, 
in  his  own  gude  time.  I have  been  ower  proud  of 
my  sufferings  in  a gude  cause,  Reuben,  and  now  I 
am  to  be  tried  with  those  whilk  will  turn  my  pride 
and  glory  into  a reproach  and  a hissing.  How 
muckle  better  I hae  thought  my  sell  than  them  that 
lay  saft,  fed  sweet,  and  drank  deep,  when  I was  in 
the  moss-haggs  and  moors,  wi’  precious  Donald 
Cameron,  and  worthy  Mr.  Blackadder,  called  Guess- 
again  ; and  how  proud  I was  0’  being  made  a spec- 
tacle to  men  and  angels,  having  stood  on  their 
pillory  at  the  Canongate  afore  I was  fifteen  years 
old,  for  the  cause  of  a National  Covenant!  To 
think,  Reuben,  that  I,  wha  hae  been  sae  honoured 
and  exalted  in  my  youth,  nay,  when  I was  but  a 
hafflins  callant,  and  that  hae  borne  testimony  again’ 
the  defections  0’  the  times  yearly,  monthly,  daily, 
hourly,  minutely,  striving  and  testifying  with  up- 
lifted hand  and  voice,  crying  aloud,  and  sparing 
not,  against  all  great  national  snares,  as  the  nation- 
wasting  and  church-sinking  abomination  of  union, 


i66 


TALES  OE  MY  LANDLORD. 


toleration,  and  patronage,  imposed  by  the  last  wo- 
man of  that  unhappy  race  of  Stewarts ; also  against 
the  infringements  and  invasions  of  the  just  powers 
of  eldership,  whereanent  I uttered  my  paper,  called, 
a ‘ Cry  of  an  Howl  in  the  Desert/  printed  at  the 
Bow-head,  and  sold  by  all  flying  stationers  in  town 
and  country  — and  now  ” 

Here  he  paused.  It  may  well  be  supposed  that 
Butler,  though  not  absolutely  coinciding  in  all  the 
good  old  man’s  ideas  about  church  government, 
had  too  much  consideration  and  humanity  to  inter- 
rupt him,  while  he  reckoned  up  with  conscious 
pride  his  sufferings,  and  the  constancy  of  his  testi- 
mony. Gn  the  contrary,  when  he  paused  under 
the  influence  of  the  bitter  recollections  of  the 
moment,  Butler  instantly  threw  in  his  mite  of 
encouragement. 

“ You  have  been  well  known,  my  old  and  revered 
friend,  a true  and  tried  follower  of  the  Cross ; one 
who,  as  Saint  Jerome  hath  it,  ‘per  infamiam  et 
bonam  famam  grassari  ad  immortalitatem / which 
may  be  freely  rendered,  ‘ who  rusheth  on  to  immor- 
tal life,  through  bad  report  and  good  report/  You 
have  been  one  of  those  to  whom  the  tender  and 
fearful  souls  cry  during  the  midnight  solitude, — 

‘ Watchman,  what  of  the  night  ? — Watchman, 
what  of  the  night  ? And,  assuredly,  this  heavy 
dispensation,  as  it  comes  not  without  Divine  per- 
mission, so  it  comes  not  without  its  special  commis- 
sion and  use.” 

“I  do  receive  it  as  such,”  said  poor  Deans,  re- 
turning the  grasp  of  Butler’s  hand ; “ and,  if  I have 
not  been  taught  to  read  the  Scripture  in  any  other 
tongue  but  my  native  Scottish,”  (even  in  his  dis- 
tress Butler’s  Latin  quotation  had  not  escaped  his 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN. 


167 


notice,)  “ I have,  nevertheless,  so  learned  them,  that 
I trust  to  bear  even  this  crook  in  my  lot  with  sub- 
mission. But  O,  Reuben  Butler,  the  kirk,  of  whilk, 
though  unworthy,  I have  yet  been  thought  a pol- 
ished shaft,  and  meet  to  be  a pillar,  holding,  from 
my  youth  upward,  the  place  of  ruling  elder  — what 
will  the  lightsome  and  profane  think  of  the  guide 
that  cannot  keep  his  own  family  from  stumbling  ? 
How  will  they  take  up  their  song  and  their  re- 
proach, when  they  see  that  the  children  of  profess- 
ors are  liable  to  as  foul  backsliding  as  the  offspring 
of  Belial ! But  I will  bear  my  cross  with  the  com- 
fort, that  whatever  showed  like  goodness  in  me  or 
mine,  was  but  like  the  light  that  shines  frae  creep- 
ing insects,  on  the  brae-side,  in  a dark  night  — it 
kythes  bright  to  the  ee,  because  all  is  dark  around 
it ; but  when  the  morn  comes  on  the  mountains,  it 
is  but  a puir  crawling  kail-worm  after  a\  And  sae 
it  shows,  wi’  ony  rag  of  human  righteousness,  or 
formal  law-work,  that  we  may  pit  round  us  to  cover 
our  shame.” 

As  he  pronounced  these  words,  the  door  again 
opened,  and  Mr.  Bartoline  Saddletree  entered,  his 
three-pointed  hat  set  far  back  on  his  head,  with  a 
silk  handkerchief  beneath  it,  to  keep  it  in  that  cool 
position,  his  gold-headed  cane  in  his  hand,  and  his 
whole  deportment  that  of  a wealthy  burgher,  who 
might  one  day  look  to  have  a share  in  the  magis- 
tracy, if  not  actually  to  hold  the  curule  chair  itself. 
Rochefoucault,  who  has  torn  the  veil  from  so  many 
foul  gangrenes  of  the  human  heart,  says,  we  find 
somefhing  not  altogether  unpleasant  to  us  in  the 
misfortunes  of  our  best  friends.  Mr.  Saddletree 
would  have  been  very  angry  had  any  one  told  him 
that  he  felt  pleasure  in  the  disaster  of  poor  Effie 


1 68 


TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 


Deans,  and  the  disgrace  of  her  family;  and  yet 
there  is  great  question  whether  the  gratification 
of  playing  the  person  of  importance,  enquiring,  in- 
vestigating, and  laying  down  the  law  on  the  whole 
affair,  did  not  offer,  to  say  the  least,  full  consola- 
tion for  the  pain  which  pure  sympathy  gave  him 
on  account  of  his  wife’s  kinswoman.  He  had  now 
got  a piece  of  real  judicial  business  by  the  end, 
instead  of  being  obliged,  as  was  his  common  case, 
to  intrude  his  opinion  where  it  was  neither  wished 
nor  wanted;  and  felt  as  happy  in  the  exchange 
as  a boy  when  he  gets  his  first  new  watch,  which 
actually  goes  when  wound  up,  and  has  real  hands 
and  a true  dial-plate.  But  besides  this  subject 
for  legal  disquisition,  Bartoline’s  brains  were  also 
overloaded  with  the  affair  of  Porteous,  his  violent 
death,  and  all  its  probable  consequences  to  the  city 
and  community.  It  was  what  the  French  call  Vent- 
barrets  des  richesses,  the  confusion  arising  from  too 
much  mental  wealth.  He  walked  in  with  a con- 
sciousness of  double  importance,  full  fraught  with 
the  superiority  of  one  who  possesses  more  infor- 
mation than  the  company  into  which  he  enters,  and 
who  feels  a right  to -discharge  his  learning  on  them 
without  mercy.  “ Good  morning,  Mr.  Deans,  — 
good-morrow  to  you,  Mr.  Butler,  — - 1 was  not  aware 
that  you  were  acquainted  with  Mr.  Deans.” 

Butler  made  some  slight  answer;  his  reasons 
may  be  readily  imagined  for  not  making  his  con- 
nexion with  the  family,  which,  in  his  eyes,  had 
something  of  tender  mystery,  a frequent  subject 
of  conversation  with  indifferent  persons,  such  as 
Saddletree. 

The  worthy  burgher,  in  the  plenitude  of  self- 
importance,  now  sate  down  upon  a chair,  wiped  his 


THE  HEART  OE  MID-LOTHIAN.  109 

brow,  collected  his  breath,  and  made  the  first  exper- 
iment of  the  resolved  pith  of  his  lungs,  in  a deep 
and  dignified  sigh,  resembling  a groan  in  sound  and 
intonation  — “ Awfu’  times  these,  neighbour  Deans, 
awfu’  times ! ” 

“ Sinfu’,  shamefu’,  heaven-daring  times,”  an- 
swered Deans,  in  a lower  and  more  subdued  tone. 

“ For  my  part,”  continued  Saddletree,  swelling 
with  importance,  “ what  between  the  distress  of 
my  friends,  and  my  poor  auld  country,  ony  wit  that 
ever  I had  may  be  said  to  have  abandoned  me,  sae 
that  I sometimes  think  myself  as  ignorant  as  if  I 
were  inter  rusticos.  Here  when  I arise  in  the 
morning,  wi’  my  mind  just  arranged  touching 
what’s  to  be  done  in  puir  Effie’s  misfortune,  and 
hae  gotten  the  haill  statute  at  my  finger-ends,  the 
mob  maun  get  up  and  string  Jock  Porteous  to 
a dyester’s  beam,  and  ding  a’  thing  out  of  my  head 
again.” 

Deeply  as  he  was  distressed  with  his  own  domes- 
tic calamity,  Deans  could  not  help  expressing  some 
interest  in  the  news.  Saddletree  immediately  en- 
tered on  details  of  the  insurrection  and  its  conse- 
quences, while  Butler  took  the  occasion  to  seek 
some  private  conversation  with  Jeanie  Deans.  She 
gave  him  the  opportunity  he  sought,  by  leaving  the 
room,  as  if  in  prosecution  of  some  part  of  her  morn- 
ing labour.  Butler  followed  her  in  a few  minutes, 
leaving  Deans  so  closely  engaged  by  his  busy  vis- 
itor, that  there  was  little  chance  of  his  observing 
their  absence. 

The  scene  of  their  interview  was  an  outer  apart- 
ment, where  Jeanie  was  used  to  busy  herself  in  ar- 
ranging the  productions  of  her  dairy.  When  But- 
ler found  an  opportunity  of  stealing  after  her  into 


170  TALES  OE  MY  LANDLORD. 

this  place,  he  found  her  silent,  dejected,  and  ready 
to  burst  into  tears.  Instead  of  the  active  industry 
with  which  she  had  been  accustomed,  even  while 
in  the  act  of  speaking,  to  employ  her  hands  in  some 
useful  branch  of  household  business,  she  was  seated 
listless  in  a corner,  sinking  apparently  under  the 
weight  of  her  own  thoughts.  Yet  the  instant  he 
entered,  she  dried  her  eyes,  and,  with  the  simpli- 
city and  openness  of  her  character,  immediately 
entered  on  conversation. 

“ I am  glad  you  have  come  in,  Mr.  Butler,”  said 
she,  “ for  — for  — for  I wished  to  tell  ye,  that  all 
maun  be  ended  between  you  and  me  — it’s  best  for 
baitli  our  sakes 

“ Ended  ! ” said  Butler,  in  surprise ; “ and  for 
what  should  it  be  ended  ? — I grant  this  is  a heavy 
dispensation,  but  it  lies  neither  at  your  door  nor 
mine  — it’s  an  evil  of  God’s  sending,  and  it  must 
be  borne  ; but  it  cannot  break  plighted  troth,  Jea- 
nie,  while  they  that  plighted  their  word  wish  to 
keep  it.” 

“ But,  Reuben,”  said  the  young  woman,  looking 
at  him  affectionately,  “ I ken  weel  that  ye  think 
mair  of  me  than  yourself;  and,  Reuben,  I can  only 
in  requital  think  mair  of  your  weal  than  of  my 
ain.  Ye  are  a man  of  spotless  name,  bred  to  God’s 
ministry,  and  a’  men  say  that  ye  will  some  day  rise 
high  in  the  kirk,  though  poverty  keep  ye  down  e’en 
now.  Poverty  is  a bad  back-friend,  Reuben,  and 
that  ye  ken  ower  weel ; but  ill-fame  is  a waur  ane, 
and  that  is  a truth  ye  sail  never  learn  through  my 
means.” 

“ What  do  you  mean  ? ” said  Butler,  eagerly  and 
impatiently  ; “ or  how  do  you  connect  your  sister’s 
guilt,  if  guilt  there  be,  which,  I trust  in  God,  may 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN,  171 

yet  be  disproved,  with  our  engagement  ? — how  can 
that  affect  you  or  me  ? ” 

“ How  can  you  ask  me  that,  Mr.  Butler?  Will 
this  stain,  d’ye  think,  ever  be  forgotten,  as  lang  as 
our  heads  are  abune  the  grund  ? Will  it  not  stick 
to  us,  and  to  our  bairns,  and  to  their  very  bairns’ 
bairns  ? To  hae  been  the  child  of  an  honest  man, 
might  hae  been  saying  something  for  me  and  mine  ; 

but  to  be  the  sister  of  a 0,  my  God  ! ” — With 

this  exclamation  her  resolution  failed,  and  she  burst 
into  a passionate  fit  of  tears. 

The  lover  used  every  effort  to  induce  her  to  com- 
pose herself,  and  at  length  succeeded  ; but  she  only 
resumed  her  composure  to  express  herself  with  the 
same  positiveness  as  before,  “ No,  Reuben,  I’ll 
bring  disgrace  hame  to  nae  man’s  hearth  ; my  ain 
distresses  I can  bear,  and  I maun  bear,  but  there 
is  nae  occasion  for  buckling  them  on  other  folk’s 
shouthers,  I will  bear  my  load  alone  — the  back 
is  made  for  the  burden.” 

A lover  is  by  charter  wayward  and  suspicious  ; 
and  Jeanie’s  readiness  to  renounce  their  engage- 
ment, under  pretence  of  zeal  for  his  peace  of  mind 
and  respectability  of  character,  seemed  to  poor 
Butler  to  form  a portentous  combination  with  the 
commission  of  the  stranger  he  had  met  with  that 
morning.  His  voice  faltered  as  he  asked,  “ Whe- 
ther nothing  but  a sense  of  her  sister’s  present  dis- 
tress occasioned  her  to  talk  in  that  manner  ? ” 

“ And  what  else  can  do  sae  ? ” she  replied  with 
simplicity.  “ Is  it  not  ten  long  years  since  we 
spoke  together  in  this  way  ? ” 

“ Ten  years  ? ” said  Butler,  “ It’s  a long  time  — 

sufficient  perhaps  for  a woman  to  weary  ” 

“ To  weary  of  her  auld  gown,”  said  Jeanie 


*72 


TALES  OE  MY  LANDLORD. 


“and  to  wish  for  a new  ane,  if  she  likes  to  be 
brave,  but  not  long  enough  to  weary  of  a friend  — 
The  eye  may  wish  change,  but  the  heart  never/’ 

“ Never  ? ” said  Reuben,  — “ that’s  a bold  promise.” 

“ But  not  more  bauld  than  true,”  said  Jeanie, 
with  the  same  quiet  simplicity  which  attended  her 
manner  in  joy  and  grief,  in  ordinary  affairs,  and  in 
those  which  most  interested  her  feelings. 

Butler  paused,  and  looking  at  her  fixedly  — “I 
am  charged,”  he  said,  “ with  a message  to  you, 
Jeanie.” 

“ Indeed  ! From  whom  ? Or  what  can  ony  ane 
have  to  say  to  me  ? ” 

“ It  is  from  a stranger,”  said  Butler,  affecting 
to  speak  with  an  indifference  which  his  voice  be- 
lied — “A  young  man  whom  I met  this  morning  in 
the  Park.” 

“ Mercy!”  said  Jeanie,  eagerly;  “ and  what  did 
he  say  ? ” 

“ That  he  did  not  see  you  at  the  hour  he  expected, 
but  required  you  should  meet  him  alone  at 
Muschat’s  Cairn  this  night,  so  soon  as  the  moon 
rises.” 

“ Tell  him,”  said  Jeanie,  hastily,  “ I shall  cer- 
tainly come.” 

“May  I ask,”  said  Butler,  his  suspicions  in- 
creasing at  the  ready  alacrity  of  the  answer,  “ who 
this  man  is  to  whom  you  are  so  willing  to  give  the 
meeting  at  a place  and  hour  so  uncommon  ? ” 

“ Folk  maun  do  muckle  they  have  little  will  to 
do,  in  this  world,”  replied  Jeanie. 

“Granted,”  said  her  lover;  “but  what  compels 
you  to  this  ? — who  is  this  person  ? What  I saw  of 
him  was  not  very  favourable  — who,  or  what  is  he  ? ” 

“ I do  not  know  ! ” replied  Jeanie,  composedly. 


THE  HEART  OE  MID-LOTHIAN. 


173 


“ You  do  not  know  ? ” said  Butler,  stepping  im- 
patiently through  the  apartment  — “You  purpose 
to  meet  a young  man  whom  you  do  not  know,  at 
such  a time,  and  in  a place  so  lonely  — you  say  you 
are  compelled  to  do  this  — and  yet  you  say  you  do 
not  know  the  person  who  exercises  such  an  influ- 
ence over  you  ! — Jeanie,  what  am  I to  think  of 
this  ? ” 

“Think  only,  Reuben,  that  I speak  truth,  as  if 
I were  to  answer  at  the  last  day.  I do  not  ken 
this  man  — I do  not  even  ken  that  I ever  saw  him ; 
and  yet  I must  give  him  the  meeting  he  asks  — 
there’s  life  *and  death  upon  it.” 

“Will  you  not  tell  your  father,  or  take  him  with 
you  ? ” said  Butler. 

“I  cannot,”  said  Jeanie;  “I  have  no  permis- 
sion.” 

“ Will  you  let  me  go  with  you  ? I will  wait  in 
the  Park  till  nightfall,  and  join  you  when  you  set 
out.” 

“ It  is  impossible,”  said  Jeanie ; “ there  maunna 
be  mortal  creature  within  hearing  of  our  conference.” 

“ Have  you  considered  well  the  nature  of  what 
you  are  going  to  do  ? — the  time  — the  place  — an 
unknown  and  suspicious  character  ? — Why,  if  he 
had  asked  to  see  you  in  this  house,  your  father  sit- 
ting in  the  next  room,  and  within  call,  at  such  an 
hour,  you  should  have  refused  to  see  him.” 

“ My  weird  maun  be  fulfilled,  Mr.  Butler ; my 
life  and  my  safety  are  in  God’s  hands,  but  I’ll  not 
spare  to  risk  either  of  them  on  the  errand  I am 
gaun  to  do.” 

“ Then,  Jeanie,”  said  Butler,  much  displeased, 
“ we  must  indeed  break  short  off,  and  bid  farewell 
When  there  can  be  no  confidence  betwixt  a man  and 


*74 


TALES  OE  MY  LANDLORD. 


his  plighted  wife  on  such  a momentous  topic,  it  is  a 
sign  that  she  has  no  longer  the  regard  for  him  that 
makes  their  engagement  safe  and  suitable/’ 

Jeanie  looked  at  him  and  sighed.  “I  thought,” 
she  said,  “ that  I had  brought  myself  to  bear  this 
parting  — but  — but  — I did  not  ken  that  we  were 
to  part  in  unkindness.  But  I am  a woman  and  you 
are  a man  — it  may  be  different  wi’  you  — if  your 
mind  is  made  easier  by  thinking  sae  hardly  of  me, 

I would  not  ask  you  to  think  otherwise.” 

“ You  are,”  said  Butler,  “ what  you  have  always 
been  — wiser,  better,  and  less  selfish  in  your 
native  feelings,  than  I can  be,  with  all  the 
helps  philosophy  can  give  to  a Christian.  — But 
why  — why  will  you-  persevere  in  an  undertak- 
ing so  desperate  ? Why  will  you  not  let  me  be 
your  assistant  — your  protector,  or  at  least  your 
adviser  ?” 

“Just  because  I cannot,  and  I dare  not,”  an 
swerfed  Jeanie. — “ But  hark,  what’s  that  ? Surely 
my  father  is  no  weel  ? ” 

In  fact,  the  voices  in  the  next  room  became  ob- 
streperously loud  of  a sudden,  the  cause  . of  which 
vociferation  it  is  necessary  to  explain  before  we  go 
farther.  | 

When  Jeanie  and  Butler  retired,  Mr.  Saddletree 
entered  upon  the  business  which  chiefly  interested 
the  family.  In  the  commencement  of  their  conver- 
sation he  found  old  Deans,  who,  in  his  usual  state 
of  mind,  was  no  granter  of  propositions,  so  much 
subdued  by  a deep  sense  of  his  daughter’s  danger 
and  disgrace,  that  he  heard  without  replying  to,  or 
perhaps  without  understanding,  one  or  two  learned 
disquisitions  on  the  nature  of  the  crime  imputed  to 
her  charge,  and  on  the  steps  which  ought  to  be 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN.  17$ 

taken  in  consequence.  His  only  answer  at  each 
pause  was,  “ I am  no  misdoubting  that  you  wuss  us 
weel  — your  wife's  our  far-awa  cousin.” 

Encouraged  by  these  symptoms  of  acquiescence, 
Saddletree,  who,  as  an  amateur  of  the  law,  had  a 
supreme  deference  for  all  constituted  authorities, 
again  recurred  to  his  other  topic  of  interest,  the 
murder,  namely,  of  Porteous,  and  pronounced  a 
severe  censure  on  the  parties  concerned. 

“ These  are  kittle  times  — kittle  times,  Mr.  Deans, 
when  the  people  take  the  power  of  life  and  death 
out  of  the  hands  of  the  rightful  magistrate  into 
their  ain  rough  grip.  I am  of  opinion,  and  so  I 
believe  will  Mr.  Crossmyloof  and  the  Privy-Coun 
cil,  that  this  rising  in  effeir  of  war,  to  take  away 
the  life  of  a reprieved  man,  will  prove  little  better 
than  perduellion.” 

“ If  I hadna  that  on  my  mind  whilk  is  ill  to  bear, 
Mr.  Saddletree,”  said  Deans,  “ I wad  make  bold  to 
dispute  that  point  wi'  you.” 

“ How  could  ye  dispute  what's  plain  law, 
man  ? ” said  Saddletree,  somewhat  contemptuously  ; 
“ there's  no  a callant  that  e'er  carried  a pock  wi'  a 
process  in’t,  but  will  tell  you  that  perduellion  is  the 
warst  and  maist  virulent  kind  of  treason,  being  an 
open  convocating  of  the  king’s  lieges  against  his 
authority,  (mair  especially  in  arms,  and  by  touk 
of  drum,  to  baith  whilk  accessories  my  een  and  lugs 
bore  witness,)  and  muckle  warse  than  lese-mejesty, 
or  the  concealment  of  a treasonable  purpose  — it 
winna  bear  a dispute,  neighbour.” 

“ But  it  will,  though,”  retorted  Douce  Davie 
Deans  ; “ I tell  ye  it  will  bear  a dispute  - — I never 
like  your  cauld,  legal,  formal  doctrines,  neighbour 
Saddletree.  I haud  unco  little  by  the  Parliament 


176  TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 

House,  since  the  awfu’  downfall  of  the  hopes  of 
honest  folk  that  followed  the  Revolution.” 

“ But  what  wad  ye  hae  had,  Mr.  Deans  ? ” said 
Saddletree  impatiently ; “ didna  ye  get  baith  lib- 
erty and  conscience  made  fast,  and  settled  by 
tailzie  on  you  and  your  heirs  for  ever  ? ” 

“ Mr.  Saddletree,”  retorted  Deans,  “ I ken  ye 
are  one  of  those  that  are  wise  after  the  manner  of 
this  world,  and  that  ye  haud  your  part,  and  cast  in 
your  portion,  wi’  the  lang-heads  and  lang-gowns,  and 
keep  with  the  smart  witty-pated  lawyers  of  this 
our  land  — Weary  on  the  dark  and  dolefu’  cast  that 
they  hae  gien  this  unhappy  kingdom,  when  their  - 
black  hands  of  defection  were  clasped  in  the  red 
hands  of  our  sworn  murtherers : when  those  who 
had  numbered  the  towers  of  our  Zion,  and  marked  * 
the  bulwarks  of  our  Reformation,  saw  their  hope 
turn  into  a snare,  and  their  rejoicing  into  weeping.”  ] 

“ I canna  understand  this,  neighbour,”  answered  < 
Saddletree.  “ I am  an  honest  presbyterian  of  the 
Kirk  of  Scotland,  and  stand  by  her  and  the  General 
Assembly,  and  the  due  administration  of  justice  by 
the  fifteen  Lords  o’  Session  and  the  five  Lords  o’  , 
Justiciary.” 

“ Out  upon  ye,  Mr.  Saddletree ! ” exclaimed  ' 
David,  who,  in  an  opportunity  of  giving  his  testi- 
mony on  the  offences  and  backslidings  of  the  land,  j 
forgot  for  a moment  his  own  domestic  calamity  — 

“ out  upon  your  General  Assembly,  and  the  back 
of  my  hand  to  your  Court  o’  Session ! — What  is 
the  tane  but  a waefu’  bunch  o’  cauldrife  professors 
and  ministers,  that  sate  bien  and  warm  when  the 
persecuted  remnant  were  warstling  wi’  hunger,  and 
cauld,  and  fear  of  death,  and  danger  of  fire  and 
sword,  upon  wet  brae-sides,  peat-haggs.  and  flow- 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN. 


177 


mosses,  and  that  now  creep  out  of  their  holes,  like 
blue-bottle  iiees  in  a blink  of  sunshine,  to  take  the 
pu’pits  and  places  of  better  folk  — of  them  that 
witnessed,  and  testified,  and  fought,  and  endured 
pit,  prison-house,  and  transportation  beyond  seas  ? — 
A bonny  bike  there’s  o’  them!  — And  for  your 


“ Ye  may  say  what  ye  will  o’  the  General  Assem- 
bly,” said  Saddletree,  interrupting  him,  “ and  let  \ 
them  clear  them  that  kens  them ; but  as  for  the 
Lords  o’  Session,  forby  that  they  are  my  next-door 
neighbours,  I would  have  ye  ken,  for  your  ain  regu- 
lation, that  to  raise  scandal  anent  them,  whilk  is 
termed,  to  murmur  again  them,  is  a crime  sui  gen - 
eris  — sui  generis , Mr,  Deans  — ken  ye  what  that 
amounts  to  ? ” 

“ I ken  little  o’  the  language  of  Antichrist,”  said 
Deans ; “ and  I care  less  than  little  what  carnal 
courts  may  call  the  speeches  of  honest  men.  And 
as  to  murmur  again  them,  it’s  what  a’  the  folk  that 
loses  their  pleas,  and  nine-tenths  o’  them  that  win 
them,  will  be  gay  sure  to  be  guilty  in.  Sae  I wad 
hae  ye  ken  that  I hand  a’  year  gleg-tongued  advo- 
cates, that  sell  their  knowledge  for  pieces  of  silver, 
and  your  worldly-wise  judges,  that  will  gie  three 
days  of  hearing  in  presence  to  a debate  about  the 
peeling  of  an  ingan,  and  no  ae  half-hour  to  the  gos- 
pel testimony,  as  legalists  and  formalists,  counte- 
nancing, by  sentences,  and  quirks,  and  cunning  terms 
of  law,  the  late  begun  courses  of  national  defections 
— union,  toleration,  patronages,  and  Yerastian  pre- 
latic  oaths.  As  for  the  soul  and  body-killing  Court 
o’  Justiciary  ” — — 

The  habit  of  considering  his  life  as  dedicated  to 
bear  testimony  in  behalf  of  what  he  deemed  the  suf- 


Court  o’  Session 


i78 


TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 


fering  and  deserted  cause  of  true  religion,  had  swept 
honest  David  along  with  it  thus  far ; but  with  the 
mention  of  the  criminal  court,  the  recollection  of 
the  disastrous  condition  of  his  daughter  rushed  at 
once  on  his  mind ; he  stopped  short  in  the  midst 
of  his  triumphant  declamation,  pressed  his  hands 
against  his  forehead,  and  remained  silent. 

Saddletree  was  somewhat  moved,  but  apparently 
not  so  much  so  as  to  induce  him  to  relinquish  the 
privilege  of  prosing  in  his  turn,  afforded  him  by 
David's  sudden  silence.  “Nae  doubt,  neighbour,” 
he  said,  “ it's  a sair  thing  to  hae  to  do  wi’  courts  of 
law,  unless  it  be  to  improve  ane’s  knowledge  and 
practique,  by  waiting  on  as  a hearer ; and  touching 
this  unhappy  affair  of  Effie  — ye'll  hae  seen  the  dit- 
tay,  doubtless  ? ” He  dragged  out  of  his  pocket  a 
bundle  of  papers,  and  began  to  turn  them  over. 

“ This  is  no  it  — this  is  the  information  of  Mungo 
Marsport,  of  that  ilk,  against  Captain  Lackland,  for 
coming  on  his  lands  of  Marsport  with  hawks, 
hounds,  lying-dogs,  nets,  guns,  cross-bows,  hagbuts 
of  found,  or  other  engines  more  or  less  for  destruc- 
tion of  game,  sic  as  red-deer,  fallow-deer,  capper- 
cailzies,  grey-fowl,  moor-fowl,  paitricks,  herons,  and 
sic  like ; he  the  said  defender  not  being  ane  quali-  , 
fied  person,  in  terms  of  the  statute  sixteen  hundred 
and  twenty-ane  ; that  is,  not  having  ane  plough-gate  ! 
of  land.  Now,  the  defences  proponed  say,  that  non 
constat  at  this  present  what  is  a plough-gate  of 
land,  whilk  uncertainty  is  sufficient  to  elide  the  con- 
clusions of  the  libel.  But  then  the  answers  to  the 
defences,  (they  are  signed  by  Mr.  Crossmyloof,  but 
Mr.  Younglad  drew  them,)  they  propone,  that  it 
signifies  naething,  in  hoc  statu , what  or  how  muckle 
a plough-gate  of  land  may  be,  in  respect  the  defen- 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN.  179 

der  lias  nae  lands  whatsoe’er,  less  or  niair.  ' Sae 
grant  a plough-gate  ’ ” (here  Saddletree  read  from  tlie 
paper  in  his  hand)  “ ‘ to  be  less  than  the  nineteenth 
part  of  a guse’s  grass/  — (I  trow  Mr.  Crossmyloof 
put  in  that  I ken  his  style,)  — 'of  a guse’s  grass, 
what  the  better  will  the  defender  be,  seeing  he  hasna 
a divot-cast  of  land  in  Scotland  1 — Advocates  for 
Lackland  duplies,  that  nihil  interest  de  possessions, 
the  pursuer  must  put  his  case  under  the  statute  ’ — 
(now,  this  is  worth  your  notice,  neighbour,)  — ‘ and 
must  show,  formaliter  et  specialiter,  as  well  as  gen- 
eraliter,  what  is  the  qualification  that  defender 
Lackland  does  not  possess— let  him  tell  me  what  a 
plough-gate  of  land  is,  and  I’ll  tell  him  if  I have 
one  or  no.  Surely  the  pursuer  is  bound  to  under- 
stand his  own  libel,  and  his  own  statute  that  he 
founds  upon.  Titius  pursues  Mcevius  for  recovery 
of  an e black  horse  lent  to  Maevius  — surely  he  shall 
have  judgment;  but  if  Titius  pursue  Maevius  for 
ane  scarlet  or  crimson  horse,  doubtless  he  shall  be 
bound  to  show  that  there  is  sic  ane  animal  in  rerum 
\natura.  No  man  can  be  bound  to  plead  to  nonsense 
— that  is  to  say,  to  a charge  which  cannot  be  ex- 
plained or  understood,’  — (he’s  wrang  there the 

better  the  pleadings  the  fewer  understand  them,) 

‘and  so  the  reference  unto  this  undefined  and’ un- 
intelligible measure  of  land  is,  as  if  a penalty  was 
inflicted  by  statute  for  any  man  who  suld  hunt  or 
hawk,  or  use  lying-dogs,  and  wearing  a sky-blue 

pair  of  breeches,  without  having  ’ But  I am 

wearying  you,  Mr.  Deans,  we’ll  pass  to  your  ain 
business,  — though  this  case  of  Marsport  against 
Lackland  has  made  an  unco  din  in  the  Outer-house. 

W eel  here’s  the  dittay  against  puir  Effie  : ‘ Whereas 
it  is  humbly  meant  and  shown  to  us,’  &c.,  (they  are 

■ 


jg@  TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 

words  of  mere  style,)  ‘ that  where,  by  the  laws  of 
this  and  every  other  well-regulated  realm,  the  mur- 
der of  any  one,  more  especially  of  an  infant  child, 
is  a crime  of  ane  high  nature,  and  severely  punish- 
able : And  whereas,  without  prejudice  to  the  fore- 

said  generality,  it  was,  by  ane  act  made  in  the  second 
session  of  the  First  Parliament  of  our  most  High 
and  Dread  Soveraigns  William  and  Mary,  especially 
enacted,  that  ane  woman  who  shall  have  concealed 
her  condition,  and  shall  not  be  able  to  show  that 
she  hath  called  for  help  at  the  birth,  in  case  that 
the  child  shall  be  found  dead  or  amissmg,  shall  be 
deemed  and  held  guilty  of  the  murder  thereof ; and 
the  said  facts  of  concealment  and  pregnancy  being 
found  proven  or  confessed,  shall  sustain  the  pains 
of  law  accordingly ; yet,  nevertheless,  you  Effie,  or. 

Euphemia  Deans  ’ ” , 

“ Read  no  farther!”  said  Deans,  raising  his  head 
up ; “I  would  rather  ye  thrust  a sword  into  my 
heart  than  read  a word  farther ! , 

“ Weel,  neighbour,”  said  Saddletree,  “ I thought 
it  wad  hae  comforted  ye  to  ken  the  best  and  the 
warst  o’t.  But  the  question  is,  what’s  to  be 

dune  ? ” . , . A ' 

“ Nothing,”  answered  Deans  firmly,  “ but  to  abut 

the  dispensation  that  the  Lord  sees  meet  to  send  us 
O if  it  had  been  his  will  to  take  the  grey  head  tj 
rest  before  this  awful  visitation  on  my  house  ane 
name ! But  His  will  be  done.  I can  say  that  yet 
though  I can  say  little  mair.” 

“But,  neighbour,”  said  Saddletree,  “ye  11  retan 
advocates  for  the  puir  lassie  ? it’s  a thing  mam 
needs  be  thought  of.” 

« if  there  was  ae  man  of  them,”  answered  Dean: 
“ that  held  fast  his  integrity  — but  I ken  them  wee 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN.  181 

they  are  a*  carnal,  crafty,  and  warld-hunting  self- 
seekers,  Yerastians,  and  Arminians,  every  ane  o' 
them.” 

“ Hout  tout,  neighbour,  ye  maunna  take  the  warld 
at  its  word/'  said  Saddletree ; “ the  very  deil  is  no 
sae  ill  as  he’s  ca’d  ; and  I ken  mair  than  ae  advo- 
cate that  may  be  said  to  hae  some  integrity  as  weel 
as  their  neighbours ; that  is,  after  a sort  o’  fashion 
o’  their  ain.,, 

“ It  is  indeed  but  a fashion  of  integrity  that  ye 
will  find  amang  them,”  replied  David  Deans,  “ and 
a fashion  of  wisdom,  and  fashion  of  carnal  learn- 
ing— gazing,  glancing-glasses  they  are,  fit  only  to 
fling  the  glaiks  in  folk’s  een,  wi’  their  pawky  policy, 
and  earthly  ingine,  their  flights  and  refinements,  and 
periods  of  eloquence,  frae  heathen  emperors  and 
popish  canons.  They  canna,  in  that  daft  trash  ye 
were  reading  to  me,  sae  muckle  as  ca’  men  that  are 
sae  ill-starred  as  to  be  amang  their  hands,  by  ony 
name  o’  the  dispensation  o’  grace,  but  maun  new 
baptise  them  by  the  names  of  the  accursed  Titus,  . 
wha  was  made  the  instrument  of  burning  the  holy 
Temple,  and  other  sic  like  heathens.” 

“ It’s  Tishius,”  interrupted  Saddletree,  “ and  no 
Titus.  Mr.  Crossmyloof  cares  as  little  about  Titus 
or  the  Latin  learning  as  ye  do.  — But  it’s  a case  of 
necessity  — she  maun  hae  counsel.  Now,  I could 
speak  to  Mr.  Crossmyloof  — - he’s  weel  kend  for  a 
round-spun  Presbyterian,  and  a ruling  elder  to 
boot.” 

“ He’s  a rank  Yerastian  ” replied  Deans ; “ one 
of  the  public  and  polititious  warldly-wise  men  that 
stude  up  to  prevent  ane  general  owning  of  the  cause 
in  the  day  of  power.” 

“ What  say  ye  to  the  auld  Laird  of  Cuffabout  ? * 


1 82  TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 

said  Saddletree  ; “ he  whiles  thumps  the  dust  out  of 
a case  gay  and  weel.” 

“He?  the  fause  loon!”  answered  Deans  — “he 
was  in  his  bandaliers  to  hae  joined  the  ungracious 
Highlanders  in  1715,  an  they  had  ever  had  the  luck 
to  cross  the  Firth.” 

“Weel,  Arniston  ? there’s  a clever  chield  for  ye  !” 
said  Bartoline,  triumphantly. 

“ Ay,  to  bring  popish  medals  (i)  in  till  their  very 
library  from  that  schismatic  woman  in  the  north, 
the  Duchess  of  G-ordon.” 

“ Weel,  weel,  but  somebody  ye  maun  hae  — What 
think  ye  o’  Kittlepunt  ? ” 

“ He’s  an  Arminian.” 

“ Woodsetter.” 

“ He’s,  I doubt,  a Cocceian.” 

“ Auld  Whilliewhaw  ? ” 

“ He’s  ony  thing  ye  like.”  • 

“ Young  Nsernmo  ? ” 

“ He’s  naething  at  a’.” 

. “ Ye’re  ill  to  please,  neighbour,”  said  Saddletree  ; 

« I hae  run  ower  the  pick  o’  them  for  you,  ye  maun 
e’en  choose  for  yoursell ; but  bethink  ye  that  in  the 
multitude  of  counsellors  there’s  safety.  — What 
say  ye  to  try  young  Maekenyie  ? he  has  a his; 
uncle’s  Practiques  at  the  tongue’s  end.”  ; 

“ What,  sir,  wad  ye  speak  to  me,”  exclaimed  the, 
sturdy  presbyterian  in  excessive  wrath,  “ about  a 
man  that  has  the  blood  of  the  saints  at  his  fingers, 
ends  ? Didna  his  erne  die  and  gang  to  his  place  wi’ 
the  name  of  the  Bluidy  Maekenyie  ? (&)  and  winna 
he  be  kend  by  that  name  sae  lang  as  there’s  a Scots 
tongue  to  speak  the  word?  If  the  life  of  the  deaij 
bairn  that’s  under  a suffering  dispensation,  and; 
Jeanie’s,  and  my  ain,  and  a’  mankind’s,  depended; 


THE  HEART  OE  MIDLOTHIAN.  183 

on  my  asking  sic  a slave  o'  Satan  to  speak  a word 
for  me  or  them,  they  should  a’  gae  down  the  water 
thegither  for  Davie  Deans  ! ” 

It  was  the  exalted  tone  in  which  he  spoke  this 
last  sentence  that  broke  up  the  conversation  between 
Butler  and  Jeanie,  and  brought  them  both  “ ben  the 
house,”  to  use  the  language  of  the  country.  Here 
they  found  the  poor  old  man  half  frantic  between 
grief,  and  zealous  ire  against  Saddletree's  proposed 
measures,  his  cheek  inflamed,  his  hand  clenched, 
and  his  voice  raised,  while  the  tear  in  his  eye,  and 
the  occasional  quiver  of  his  accents,  showed  that  his 
utmost  efforts  were  inadequate  to  shaking  off  the 
consciousness  of  his  misery.  Butler,  apprehensive 
of  the  consequences  of  his  agitation  to  an  aged  and 
feeble  frame,  ventured  to  utter  to  him  a recom- 
mendation to  patience. 

“ I am  patient,"  returned  the  old  man,  sternly,  — 
“ more  patient  than  any  one  who  is  alive  to  the  woful 
backslidings  of  a miserable  time  can  be  patient ; and 
in  so  much  that,  I need  neither  sectarians,  nor  sons, 
nor  grandsons  of  sectarians,  to  instruct  my  grey 
hairs  how  to  bear  my  cross.” 

“ But,  sir,”  continued  Butler,  taking  no  offence  at 
the  slur  cast  on  his  grandfather’s  faith,  “ we  must 
use  human  means.  When  you  call  in  a physician, 
you  would  not,  I suppose,  question  him  on  the  na- 
ture of  his  religious  principles  ? ” 

“Wad  I no?”  answered  David  — “But  I wad, 
though ; and  if  he  didna  satisfy  me  that  he  had  a 
right  sense  of  the  right-hand  and  left-hand  defec- 
tions of  the  day,  not  a goutte  of  his  physic  should 
gang  through  my  father’s  son.” 

It  is  a dangerous  thing  to  trust  to  an  illustration. 
Butler  had  done  so  and  miscarried ; but,  like  a gal- 


184  TALES^OF  MY  LANDLORD 

lant  soldier  when  his  musket  misses  fire,  he  stood 
his  ground,  and  charged  with  the  bayonet.  — “ This 
is  too  rigid  an  interpretation  of  your  duty,  sir.  The 
sun  shines,  and  the  rain  descends,  on  the  just 
and  unjust,  and  they  are  placed  together  in  life  in 
circumstances  which  frequently  render  intercourse 
between  them  indispensable,  perhaps  that  the  evil 
may  have  an  opportunity  of  being  converted  by  the 
good,  and  perhaps,  also,  that  the  righteous  might, 
among  other  trials,  be  subjected  to  that  of  occasional 
converse  with  the  profane.” 

“ Ye’re  a silly  callant,  Reuben,”  answered  Deans, 
“ with  your  bits  of  argument.  Can  a man  touch, 
pitch  and  not  be  defiled  ? Or  what  think  ye  of  the 
brave  and  worthy  champions  of  the  Covenant,  that 
wadna  sae  muckle  as  hear  a minister  speak,  be  his- 
gifts  and  graces  as  they  would,  that  hadna  wit- 
nessed against  the  enormities  of  the  day  ? Naef 
lawyer  shall  ever  speak  for  me  and  mine  that  hasna 
concurred  in  the  testimony  of  the  scattered,  yet 
lovely  remnant,  which  abode  in  the  cliffs  of  the 
rocks.” 

So  saying,  and  as  if  fatigued,  both  with  the  ar- 
guments and  presence  of  his  guests,  the  old  man 
arose,  and  seeming  to  bid  them  adieu  with  a motion' 
of  his  head  and  hand,  went  to  shut  himself  up  ic| 
his  sleeping  apartment. 

“ It’s  thrawing  his  daughter’s  life  awa,”  said  Sad- 
dletree to  Butler,  “ to  hear  him  speak  in  that  daft 
gate.  Where  will  he  ever  get  a Cameronian  advo- 
cate ? Or  wha  ever  heard  of  a lawyer’s  suffering 
either  for  ae  religion  or  another  ? The  lassie’s  life 
is  clean  flung  awa.” 

During  the  latter  part  of  this  debate,  Dumbie- 
dikes  had  arrived  at  the  door,  dismounted,  hung 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN. 


185 


the  pony’s  bridle  on  the  usual  hook,  and  sunk  down 
on  his  ordinary  settle.  His  eyes,  with  more  than 
their  usual  animation,  followed  first  one  speaker, 
then  another,  till  he  caught  the  melancholy  sense 
of  the  whole  from  Saddletree’s  last  words.  He 
rose  from  his  seat,  stumped  slowly  across  the  room, 
and,  coming  close  up  to  Saddletree’s  ear,  said,  in  a 
tremulous,  anxious  voice,  “ Will  — will  siller  do 
naething  for  them,  Mr.  Saddletree  ? ” 

“ Umph  ! ” said  Saddletree,  looking  grave,  — “ sil- 
ler will  certainly  do  it  in  the  Parliament  House,  if 
ony  thing  can  do  it ; but  whare’s  the  siller  to  come 
frae  ? Mr.  Deans,  ye  see,  will  do  naething ; and 
though  Mrs.  Saddletree’s  their  far-awa  friend,  and 
right  good  weel-wisher,  and  is  weel  disposed  to  as- 
sist, yet  she  wadna  like  to  stand  to  be  bound  singuli 
in  solidum  to  such  an  expensive  wark.  An  ilka 
friend  wad  bear  a share  o’  the  burden,  something 
might  be  dune  — ilka  ane  to  be  liable  for  their  ain 
input  — I wadna  like  to  see  the  case  fa’  through 
without  being  pled  — -it  wadna  be  creditable,  for  a’ 
that  daft  whig  body  says.” 

“ I’ll  — I will  — yes,”  (assuming  fortitude,)  “ I 
will  be  answerable,”  said  Dumbiedikes,  “ for  a score 
of  punds  sterling.”  — And  he  was  silent,  staring  in 
astonishment  at  finding  himself  capable  of  such  un- 
wonted resolution  and  excessive  generosity. 

“ God  Almighty  bless  ye,  Laird  ! ” said  J eanie,  in 
a transport  of  gratitude. 

“ Ye  may  ca’  the  twenty  punds  thretty,”  said 
Dumbiedikes,  looking  bashfully  away  from  her,  and 
towards  Saddletree. 

“ That  will  do  bravely,”  aaid  Saddletree,  rubbing 
his  hands ; “ and  ye  sail  hae  a’  my  skill  and 
knowledge  to  gar  the  siller  gang  far  — I’ll  tape  it 


1 86  TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 

out  weel  — I ken  how  to  gar  the  birkies  tak  short 
fees,  and  be  glad  o’  them  too  — it’s  only  garring 
them  trow  ye  hae  twa  or  three  cases  of  importance 
coming  on,  and  they’ll  work  cheap  to  get  custom. 
Let  me  alane  for  whillywhaing  an  advocate : — it’s 
nae  sin  to  get  as  muckle  frae  them  for  our  siller  as 
we  can  — after  a’,  it’s  but  the  wind  o’  their  mouth 
— it  costs  them  naething ; whereas,  in  my  wretched 
occupation  of  a saddler,  horse-milliner,  and  harness- 
maker,  we  are  out  unconscionable  sums  just  for 
barkened  hides  and  leather.” 

“Can  I be  of  no  use?”  said  Butler.  “My 
means,  alas  ! are  only  worth  the  black  coat  I wear; 
but  I am  young  — I owe  much  to  the  family  — 
Can  I do  nothing?” 

“Ye  can  help  to  collect  evidence,  sir,”  said  Sad-; 
dletree  ; “ if  we  could  but  find  ony  ane  to  say  she 
had  gien  the  least  hint  o’  her  condition,  she  wad  be,  : 
brought  aff  wi’  a wat  finger—  Mr.  Crossmyloof  tell’d 
me  sae.  The  crown,  says  he,  canna  be  craved  to 
prove  a positive  — was’t  a positive  or  a negative 
they  couldna  be  ca’d  to  prove  ? — it  was  the  tane  or 
the  tither  o’  them,  I am  sure,  and  it  maksna  muckle. 
matter  whilk.  Wherefore,  says  he,  the  libel  maun 
be  redargued  by  the  panel  proving  her  defences; 
And  it  canna  be  done  otherwise.” 

“ But  the  fact,  sir,”  argued  Butler,  “ the  fact  that 
this  poor  girl  has  borne  a child  ; surely  the  crown 
lawyers  must  prove  that  ? ” said  Butler. 

Saddletree  paused  a moment,  while  the  visage  of 
Dumbiedikes,  which  traversed,  as  if  it  had  been 
placed  on  a pivot,  from  the  one  spokesman  to  the 
other,  assumed  a more  blithe  expression. 

« Ye  — ye  — ye  — es,”  said  Saddletree,  after  some 
grave  hesitation;  “unquestionably  that  is  a thing 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN. 


87 


to  be  proved,  as  the  court  will  more  fully  declare 
by  an  interlocutor  of  relevancy  in  common  form  ; 
but  I fancy  that  job's  done  already,  for  she  has 
confessed  her  guilt." 

“ Confessed  the  murder?"  exclaimed  Jeanie, 
with  a scream  that  made  them  all  start. 

“ No,  I didna  say  that,"  replied  Bartoline.  “ But 
she  confessed  bearing  the  babe." 

“And  what  became  of  it,  then?"  said  Jeanie; 
“for  not  a word  could  I get  from  her  but  bitter 
sighs  and  tears." 

“ She  says  it  was  taken  away  from  her  by  the 
woman  in  whose  house  it  was  born,  and  who  as- 
sisted her  at  the  time." 

“ And  who  was  that  woman  ? " ' said  Butler. 
“ Surely  by  her  means  the  truth  might  be  dis- 
covered. — Who  was  she  ? I will  fly  to  her  directly." 

“ I wish,"  said  Dumbiedikes,  “ I were  as  young 
and  as  supple  as  you,  and  had  the  gift  of  the  gab 
as  weel.” 

“Who  is  she?”  again  reiterated  Butler  impa- 
tiently. — “ Who  could  that  yoman  be  ? ” 

“Ay,  wha  kens  that  but  hersell,”  said  Saddle- 
tree ; “ she  deponed  further,  and  declined  to  an- 
swer that  interrogatory.” 

“ Then  to  herself  will  I instantly  go,”  said  But- 
ler; “farewell,  Jeanie;”  then  coming  close  up  to 
her. — “Take  no  rash  steps  till  you  hear  from  me 
Farewell ! ” and  he  immediately  left  the  cottage. 

“ I wad  gang  too,”  said  the  landed  proprietor, 
in  an  anxious,  jealous,  and  repining  tone,  “ but  my 
powny  winna  for  the  life  0’  me  gang  ony  other 
road  than  just  frae  Dumbiedikes  to  this  house-end, 
and  sae  straight  back  again.” 

“ Ye’ll  do  better  for  them,”  said  Saddletree,  as 


1 88 


TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 


they  left  the  house  together,  “ by  sending  me  the 
thretty  punds.” 

“ Thretty  punds  ?”  hesitated  Dumbiedikes,  who 
was  now  out  of  the  reach  of  those  eyes  which  had 
inflamed  his  generosity ; “ I only  said  twenty 
punds.” 

“Ay;  but,”  said  Saddletree,  “that  was  under 
protestation  to  add  and  eik ; and  so  ye  craved  leave 
to  amend  your  libel,  and  made  it  thretty.” 

“ Did  I ? I dinna  mind  that  I did,”  answered 
Dumbiedikes.  “ But  whatever  I said  I’ll  stand  to.” 
Then  bestriding  his  steed  with  some  difficulty, 
he  added,  “ Dinna  ye  think  poor  Jeanie’s  een  wi’ 
the  tears  in  them  glanced  like  lamour  beads,  Mr. 
Saddletree  ? ” * 

“I  kenna  muckle  about  women's  een,  Laird,” 
replied  the  insensible  Bartoline ; “ and  I care  just 
as  little.  I wuss  I were  as  weel  free  o'  their 
tongues  ; though  few  wives,”  he  added,  recollecting 
the  necessity  of  keeping  up  his  character  for  domes- 
tic rule,  “ are  under  better  command  than  mine, 
Laird.  I allow  neither  perduellion  nor  lese-majesty 
against  my  sovereign  authority.” 

The  Laird  saw  nothing  so  important  in  this  ob- 
servation as  to  call  for  a rejoinder,  and  when  they 
had  exchanged  a mute  salutation,  they  parted  in 
peace  upon  their  different  errands. 


I 


CHAPTER  XIII. 


HI  warrant  that  fellow  from  drowning,  were  the  ship  no  stronger 
than  a nut-shell.  — The  Tempest. 

Butler  felt  neither  fatigue  nor  want  of  refresh- 
ment, although,  from  the  mode  in  which  he  had 
spent  the  night,  he  might  well  have  been  overcome 
with  either.  But  in  the  earnestness  with  which  he 
hastened  to  the  assistance  of  the  sister  of  Jeanie 
Deans,  he  forgot  both. 

In  his  first  progress  he  walked  with  so  rapid  a 
pace  as  almost  approached  to  running,  when  he 
was  surprised  to  hear  behind  him  a call  upon  his 
name,  contending  with  an  asthmatic  cough,  and 
half-drowned  amid  the  resounding  trot  of  an  High- 
land pony.  He  looked  behind,  and  saw  the  Laird 
of  Dumbiedikes  making  after  him  with  what  speed 
he  might,  for  it  happened  fortunately  for  the  Laird’s 
purpose  of  conversing  with  Butler,  that  his  own 
road  homeward  was  for  about  two  hundred  yards 
the  same  with  that  which  led  by  the  nearest  way 
to  the  city.  Butler  stopped  when  he  heard  him- 
self thus  summoned,  internally  wishing  no  good 
to  the  panting  equestrian  who  thus  retarded  his 
journey. 

“ Uh ! uh  ! uh!”  ejaculated  Dumbiedikes,  as  he 
checked  the  hobbling  pace  of  the  pony  by  our 
friend  Butler.  “ Uh  ! uh  ! it’s  a hard-set  willyard 
beast  this  o’  mine.”  He  had  in  fact  just  overtaken 


190 


TALES  OE  MY  LANDLORD. 


the  object  of  his  chase  at  the  very  point  beyond 
which  it  would  have  been  absolutely  impossible 
for  him  to  have  continued  the  pursuit,  since  there 
Butler’s  road  parted  from  that  leading  to  Dumbie- 
dikes,  and  no  means  of  influence  or  compulsion 
which  the  rider  could  possibly  have  used  towards 
his  Bucephalus  could  have  induced  the  Celtic  ob- 
stinacy of  Rory  Bean  (such  was  the  pony’s  name) 
to  have  diverged  a yard  from  the  path  that  con- 
ducted him  to  his  own  paddock. 

Even  when  he  had  recovered  from  the  shortness 
of  breath  occasioned  by  a trot  much  more  rapid 
than  Rory  or  he  were  accustomed  to,  the  high  pur- 
pose of  Dumbiedikes  seemed  to. stick  as  it  were  in 
his  throat,  and  impede  his  utterance,  so  that  Butler 
stood  for  nearly  three  minutes  ere  he  could  utter  a 
syllable  ; and  when  he  did  find  voice,  it  was  only  to 
say,  after  one  or  two  efforts,  “ Uh  ! uh  ! uhm  ! I 
say,  Mr.  — Mr.  Butler,  it’s  a braw  day  for  the 
ha’rst.” 

“ Fine  day,  indeed,”  said  Butler.  “ I wish  you 
good  morning,  sir.” 

“ Stay  — stay  a bit,”  rejoined  Dumbiedikes  ; “ that  . 
was  no  what  I had  gotten  to  say.” 

“ Then,  pray  be  quick,  and  let  me  have  your  \ 
commands,”  rejoined  Butler ; “ I crave  your  par- 
don, but  I am  in  haste,  and  Tempus  nemini  — you  > 
know  the  proverb.” 

Dumbiedikes  did  not  know  the  proverb,  nor  did 
he  even  take  the  trouble  to  endeavour  to  look  as  if 
he  did,  as  others  in  his  place  might  have  done.  He 
was  concentrating  all  his  intellects  for  one  grand 
proposition,  and  could  not  afford  any  detachment 
to  defend  outposts.  “ I say,  Mr.  Butler,”  said  he, 

“ ken  ye  if  Mr.  Saddletree’s  a great  lawyer  ? ” 


THE  HEART  OE  MID-LOTHIAN. 


I91 


“ I have  no  person’s  word  for  it  but  his  own,” 
answered  Butler,  dryly  ; “ but  undoubtedly  he  best 
understands  his  own  qualities.” 

“Umph!”  replied  the  taciturn  Dumbiedikes,  in 
a tone  which  seemed  to  say,  “ Mr.  Butler,  I take 
your  meaning.”  “ In  that  case,”  he  pursued,  “ I’ll 
employ  my  ain  man  o’  business,  Nichil  Novit,  (auld 
Nichil’s  son,  and  amaist  as  gleg  as  his  father,)  to 
agent  Effie’s  plea.” 

And  having  thus  displayed  more  sagacity  than 
Butler  expected  from  him,  he  courteously  touched 
his  gold-laced  cocked  hat,  and  by  a punch  on  the 
ribs,  conveyed  to  Rory  Bean,  it  was  his  rider’s  plea- 
sure that  he  should  forthwith  proceed  homewards  ; 
a hint  which  the  quadruped  obeyed  with  tha,t 
degree  of  alacrity  with  which  men  and  animals 
interpret  and  obey  suggestions  that  entirely  corre- 
spond with  their  own  inclinations. 

Butler  resumed  his  pace,  not  without  a momen- 
tary revival  of  that  jealousy,  which  the  honest 
Laird’s  attention  to  the  family  of  Deans  had  at  dif- 
ferent times  excited  in  his  bosom.  But  he  was  too 
generous  long  to  nurse  any  feeling,  which  was  allied 
to  selfishness.  “He  is,”  said  Butler  to  himself, 
“ rich  in  what  I want ; why  should  I feel  vexed 
that  he  has  the  heart  to  dedicate  some  of  his  pelf 
to  render  them  services,  which  I can  only  form  the 
empty  wish  of  executing  ? In  God’s  name,  let  us 
each  do  what  we  can.  May  she  be  but  happy  ! — 
saved  from  the  misery  and  disgrace  that  seems  im- 
pending — Let  me  but  find  the  means  of  preventing 
the  fearful  experiment  of  this  evening,  and  farewell 
to  other  thoughts,  though  my  heart-strings  break 
in  parting  with  them!” 

He  redoubled  his  pace,  and  soon  stood  before  the 


192 


TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 


door  of  the  Tolbooth,  or  rather  before  the  entrance 
where  the  door  had  formerly  been  placed.  His  in- 
terview with  the  mysterious  stranger,  the  message 
to  Jeanie,  his  agitating  conversation  with  her  on 
the  subject  of  breaking  off  their  mutual  engage- 
ments, and  the  interesting  scene  with  old  Deans, 
had  so  entirely  occupied  his  mind  as  to  drown  even 
recollection  of  the  tragical  event  which  he  had  wit- 
nessed the  preceding  evening.  His  attention  was 
not  recalled  to  it  by  the  groups  who  stood  scattered 
on  the  street  in  conversation,  which  they  hushed 
when  strangers  approached,  or  by  the  bustling 
search  of  the  agents  of  the  city  police,  supported 
by  small  parties  of  the  military,  or  by  the  appear- 
ance of  the  Guard-House,  before  which  were  treble 
sentinels,  or,  finally,  by  the  subdued  and  intimi- 
dated looks  of  the  lower  orders  of  society,  who,  con- 
scious that  they  were  liable  to  suspicion,  if  they 
were  not  guilty  of  accession  to  a riot  likely  to  be 
strictly  enquired  into,  glided  about  with  an  humble 
and  dismayed  aspect,  like  men  whose  spirits  being 
exhausted  in  the  revel  and  the  dangers  of  a des- 
perate debauch  over  night,  are  nerve-shaken,  timo- 
rous, and  unenterprising  on  the  succeeding  day. 

None  of  these  symptoms  of  alarm  and  trepida- 
tion struck  Butler,  whose  mind  was  occupied  with 
a different,  and  to  him  still  more  interesting  subject, 
until  he  stood  before  the  entrance  to  the  prison, 
and  saw  it  defended  by  a double  file  of  grenadiers, 
instead  of  bolts  and  bars.  Their  “ Stand,  stand  ! ” 
the  blackened  appearance  of  the  doorless  gate-way, 
and  the  winding  staircase  and  apartments  of  the 
Tolbooth,  now  open  to  the  public  eye,  recalled  the 
whole  proceedings  of  the  eventful  night  Upon  his 
requesting  to  speak  with  Effie  Deans,  the  same  tall, 


THE  HEART  OE  MID-LOTHIAN.  193 

thin,  silver-haired  turnkey,  whom  he  had  seen  on 
the  preceding  evening,  made  his  appearance. 

‘‘I  think,”  he  replied  to  Butler’s  request  of 
admission,  with  true  Scottish  indirectness,  “ ye 
will  be  the  same  lad  that  was  for  in  to  see  her 
yestreen  ? ” 

Butler  admitted  he  was  the  same  person. 

“ And  I am  thinking,”  pursued  the  turnkey 
“ that  ye  speered  at  me  when  we  locked  up,  and  if 
we  locked  up  earlier  on  account  of  Porteous  ? ” 

“ Very  likely  I might  make  some  such  observa- 
tion,” said  Butler ; “ but  the  question  now  is,  can 
I see  Effie  Deans  ? ” 

“ I dinna  ken  — gang  in  by,  and  up  the  turn- 
pike stair,  and  turn  till  the  ward  on  the  left  hand.” 

The  old  man  followed  close  behind  him,  with  his 
keys  in  his  hand,  not  forgetting  even  that  huge  one 
which  had  once  opened  and  shut  the  outward  gate 
of  his  dominions,  though  at  present  it  was  but  an 
idle  and  useless  burden.  No  sooner  had  Butler 
entered  the  room  to  which  he  was  directed,  than 
the  experienced  hand  of  the  warder  selected  the 
proper  key,  and  locked  it  on  the  outside.  At  first 
Butler  conceived  this  manoeuvre  was  only  an  effect 
of  the  man’s  habitual  and  official  caution  and  jeal- 
ousy. But  when  he  heard  the  hoarse  command, 
“ Turn  out  the  guard  ! ” and  immediately  afterwards 
heard  the  clash  of  a sentinel’s  arms,  as  he  was  posted 
at  the  door  of  his  apartment,  he  again  called  out 
to  the  turnkey,  “ My  good  friend,  I have  business 
of  some  consequence  with  Effie  Deans,  and  I beg 
to  see  her  as  soon  as  possible.”  No  answer  was 
returned.  “ If  it  be  against  your  rules  to  admit  me,” 
repeated  Butler,  in  a still  louder  tone,  “ to  see*  the 
prisoner,  I beg  you  will  tell  me  so,  and  let  me  go 


£ 94  TALES- OF  MY  LANDLORD. 

about  my  business.  — Fugit  irrevocable  tempus  ! * 
muttered  he  to  himself. 

“ If  ye  had  business  to  do,  ye  suld  hae  dune  it 
before  ye  cam  here,”  replied  the  man  of  keys  from 
the  outside;  “ ye’ll  find  it’s  easier  wunnin  in  than 
wunnin  out  here  — there’s  sma’  likelihood  o’  another 
Porteous-mob  coming  to  rabble  us  again  — the  law 
will  haud  her  ain  now,  neighbour,  and  that  ye’ll 
find  to  your  cost.” 

“ What  do  you  mean  by  that,  sir  ? ” retorted 
Butler.  “ You  must  mistake  me  for  some  other 
person.  My  name  is  Eeuben  Butler,  preacher  of 
the  gospel.” 

“ I ken  that  weel  eneugh,”  said  the  turnkey. 

“ Well,  then,  if  you  know  me,  I have  a right  to 
know  from  you  in  return,  what  warrant  you  have 
for  detaining  me ; that,  I know,  is  the  right  of 
every  British  subject.” 

“ Warrant  ? ” said  the  jailor,  — “ the  warrant’s 
awa  to  Libberton  wi’  twa  sheriff  officers  seeking  ye. 
If  ye  had  staid  at  hame,  as  honest  men  should  do, 
ye  wad  hae  seen  the  warrant ; but  if  ye  come  to 
be  incarcerated  of  your  ain  accord,  wha  can  help  it, 
my  jo  ? ” 

“ So  I cannot  see  Effie  Deans,  then,”  said  But- 
ler ; “ and  you  are  determined  not  to  let  me  out  ? ” 

“ Troth  will  I no,  neighbour,”  answered  the 
old  man,  doggedly ; “ as  for  Effie  Deans,  ye’ll  hae 
eneugh  ado  to  mind  your  ain  business,  and  let  her 
mind  hers ; and  for  letting  you  out,  that  maun  be 
as  the  magistrate  will  determine.  And  fare  ye  weel 
for  a bit,  for  I maun  see  Deacon  Sawyers  put  on 
ane  or  twa  o’  the  doors  that  your  quiet  folk  broke 
down  yesternight,  Mr.  Butler.” 

There  was  something  in  this  exquisitely  provok- 


THE  IIEAHT  OF  MID-LOTHIAN. 


195 


ing,  but  there  was  also  something  darkly  alarming. 
To  be  imprisoned,  even  on  a false  accusation,  has 
something  in  it  disagreeable  and  menacing  even  to 
men  of  more  constitutional  courage  than  Butler 
had  to  boast ; for  although  he  had  much  of  that 
resolution  which  arises  from  a sense  of  duty  and  an 
honourable  desire  to  discharge  it,  yet,  as  his  imagi- 
nation was  lively,  and  his  frame  of  body  delicate, 
he  was  far  from  possessing  that  cool  insensibility 
to  danger  which  is  the  happy  portion  of  men  of 
stronger  health,  more  firm  nerves,  and  less  acute 
sensibility.  An  indistinct  idea  of  peril,  which  he 
could  neither  understand  nor  ward  off,  seemed  to 
float  before  his  eyes.  He  tried  to  think  over  the 
events  of  the  preceding  night,  in  hopes  of  discover- 
ing some  means  of  explaining  or  vindicating  his 
conduct  for  appearing  among  the  mob,  since  it  im- 
mediately occurred  to  him  that  his  detention  must 
be  founded  on  that  circumstance.  And  it  was 
with  anxiety  that  he  found  he  could  not  recollect 
to  have  been  under  the  observation  of  any  disin- 
terested witness  in  the  attempts  that  he  made  from 
time  to  time  to  expostulate  with  the  rioters,  and 
to  prevail  on  them  to  release  him.  The  distress  of 
Deans’s  family,  the  dangerous  rendezvous  which 
Jeanie  had  formed,  and  which  he  could  not  now 
hope  to  interrupt,  had  also  their  share  in  his  unpleas- 
ant reflections.  Yet  impatient  as  he  was  to  receive 
an  eclaircissement  upon  the  cause  of  his  confine- 
ment, and  if  possible  to  obtain  his  liberty,  he  was 
affected  with  a trepidation  which  seemed  no  good 
omen  ; when,  after  remaining  an  hour  in  this  soli- 
tary apartment,  he  received  a summons  to  attend 
the  sitting  magistrate.  He  was  conducted  from 
prison  strongly  guarded  by  a party  of  soldiers,  with 


196 


TALES  OE  MY  LANDLORD. 


a parade  of  precaution,  that,  however  ill-timed  and 
unnecessary,  is  generally  displayed  after  an  event, 
which  such  precaution,  if  used  in  time,  might  have 
prevented. 

He  was  introduced  into  the  Council  Chamber,  as 
the  place  is  called  where  the  magistrates  hold  their 
sittings,  and  which  was  then  at  a little  distance 
from  the  prison.  One  or  two  of  the  senators  of  the 
city  were  present,  and  seemed  about  to  engage  in 
the  examination  of  an  individual  who  was  brought 
forward  to  the  foot  of  the  long  green-covered  table 
round  which  the  council  usually  assembled.  “Is 
that  the  preacher  ?'’  said  one  of  the  magistrates,  as 
the  city  officer  in  attendance  introduced  Butler. 
The  man  answered  in  the  affirmative.  “ Let  him 
sit  down  there  for  an  instant ; we  will  finish  this  J 
man’s  business  very  briefly.” 

“ Shall  we  remove  Mr.  Butler?”  queried  the  . 
assistant. 

“ It  is  not  necessary  — Let  him  remain  where 
he  is.” 

Butler  accordingly  sate  down  on  a bench  at  the 
bottom  of  the  apartment,  attended  by  one  of  his  , 
keepers. 

It  was  a large  room,  partially  and  imperfectly  \ 
lighted  ; but  by  chance,  or  the  skill  of  the  architect,  .J 
who  might  happen  to  remember  the  advantage  which 
might  occasionally  be  derived  from  such  an  arrange- 
ment, one  window  was  so  placed  as  to  throw  a strong 
light  at  the  foot  of  the  table  at  which  prisoners  were 
usually  posted  for  examination,  while  the  upper  ; 
end,  where  the  examinants  sate,  was  thrown  into 
shadow.  Butler’s  eyes  were  instantly  fixed  on  the 
person  whose  examination  was  at  present  proceed- 
ing, in  the  idea  that  he  might  recognise  some  one 


THE  HEART  OE  MID-LOTHIAN. 


197 


of  the  conspirators  of  the  former  night.  But 
though  the  features  of  this  man  were  sufficiently 
marked  and  striking,  he  could  not  recollect  that  he 
had  ever  seen  them  before. 

The  complexion  of  this  person  was  dark,  and  his 
age  somewhat  advanced.  He  wore  his  own  hair, 
combed  smooth  down,  and  cut  very  short.  It  was 
jet  black,  slightly  curled  by  nature,  and  already 
mottled  with  grey.  The  man's  face  expressed 
rather  knavery  than  vice,  and  a disposition  to  sharp- 
ness, cunning  and  roguery,  more  than  the  traces  of 
stormy  and  indulged  passions.  His  sharp,  quick 
black  eyes,  acute  features,  ready  sardonic  smile, 
promptitude,  and  effrontery,  gave  him  altogether 
what  is  called  among  the  vulgar  a knowing  look, 
which  generally  implies  a tendency  to  knavery. 
At  a fair  or  market,  you  could  not  for  a moment 
have  doubted  that  he  was  a horse-jockey,  intimate 
with  all  the  tricks  of  his  trade ; yet  had  you  met 
him  on  a moor,  you  would  not  have  apprehended 
any  violence  from  him.  His  dress  was  also  that  of 
a horse-dealer  — a close-buttoned  jockey-coat,  or 
wrap-rascal,  as  it  was  then  termed,  with  huge  metal 
buttons,  coarse  blue  upper  stockings,  called  boot 
hose,  because  supplying  the  place  of  boots,  and  a 
slouched  hat.  He  only  wanted  a loaded  whip  un- 
der his  arm  and  a spur  upon  one  heel,  to  complete 
the  dress  of  the  character  he  seemed  to  represent. 

“ Your  name  is  James  Ratcliffe_? ” said  the 
magistrate. 

“ Ay — always  wi’  your  honour's  leave.” 

“ That  is  to  say,  you  could  find  me  another  name 
if  I did  not  like  that  one  ? ” 

“ Twenty  to  pick  and  choose  upon,  always  with 
your  honour’s  leave,”  resumed  the  respondent. 


1 98 


TALES  OE  MY  LANDLORD. 


“But  James  Ratcliffe  is  your  present  name?  — 
what  is  your  trade  ? ” 

“ I canna  just  say,  distinctly,  that  I have  what  ye 
wad  ca’  preceesely  a trade.” 

“ But,”  repeated  the  magistrate,  “ what  are  your 
means  of  living  — your  occupation  ? ” 

“ Hout  tout  — your  honour,  wi’  your  leave,  kens 
that  as  weel  as  I do,”  replied  the  examined. 

“No  matter,  I want  to  hear  you  describe  it,”  said 
the  examinant. 

“ Me  describe  ? — and  to  your  honour  ? — far  be 
it  from  Jemmie  Ratcliffe,”  responded  the  prisoner. 

“ Come,  sir,  no  trifling  — I insist  on  an  answer.” 

“ Weel,  sir,”  replied  the  declarant,  “ I maun  make 
a clean  breast,  for  ye  see,  wi’  your  leave,  I am  look- 
ing for  favour  — Describe  my  occupation,  quo 
ye  ? — troth  it  will  be  ill  to  do  that,  in  a feasible 
way,  in  a place  like  this  — but  what  is’t  again  that 
the  aught  command  says  ? ” 

“ Thou  shalt  not  steal,”  answered  the  magistrate. 

“ Are  you  sure  0’  that  ? ” replied  the  accused. — 
“ Troth,  then,  my  occupation,  and  that  command, 
are  sair  at  odds,  for  I read  it,  thou  shalt  steal ; and 
that  makes  an  unco  difference,  though  there’s  but 
a wee  bit  word  left  out.” 

“ To  cut  the  matter  short,  Ratcliffe,  you  have  been 
a most  notorious  thief,”  said  the  examinant. 

“ I believe  Highlands  and  Lowlands  ken  that, 
sir,  forby  England  and  Holland  ” replied  Ratcliffe, 
with  the  greatest  composure  and  effrontery. 

“ And  what  d’ye  think  the  end  of  your  calling 
will  be  ? ” said  the  magistrate. 

“ I could  have  gien  a braw  guess  yesterday  — 
but  I dinna  ken  sae  weel  the  day,”  answered  the 
prisoner. 


THE  HEART  OE  MID-LOTHIAN. 


199 


“ And  what  would  you  have  said  would  have 
been  your  end,  had  you  been  asked  the  question 
yesterday  ? ” 

“Just  the  gallows,”  replied  Ratcliffe,  with  the 
same  composure. 

“ You  are  a daring  rascal,  sir,”  said  the  magis- 
trate ; “ and  how  dare  you  hope  times  are  mended 
with  you  to-day  ? ” 

“ Dear,  your  honour,”  answered  Ratcliffe,  “ there’s 
muckle  difference  between  lying  in  prison  under 
sentence  of  death,  and  staying  there  of  ane’s  ain 
proper  accord,  when  it  would  have  cost  a man 
naething  to  get  up  andrin  awa  — what  was  to  hin- 
der me  from  stepping  out  quietly,  when  the  rabble 
walked  awa  wi’  Jock  Porteous  yestreen?  — and 
does  your  honour  really  think  I staid  on  purpose  to 
be  hanged  ? ” 

“ I do  not  know  what  you  may  have  proposed  to 
yourself  ; but  I know,”  said  the  magistrate,  “ what 
the  law  proposes  for  you,  and  that  is  to  hang  you 
next  Wednesday  eight  days.” 

“Na,  na,  your  honour,”  said  Ratcliffe  firmly, 
“craving  your  honour’s  pardon,  I’ll  ne’er  believe 
that  till  I see  it.  I have  kend  the  Law  this  mony 
a year,  and  mony  a thrawart  job  I hae  had  wi’  her 
first  and  last ; but  the  auld  jaud  is  no  sae  ill  as  that 
comes  to  — I aye  fand  her  bark  waur  than  her  bite.” 

“And  if  you  do  not  expect  the  gallows,  to  which 
you  are  condemned,  (for  the  fourth  time  to  my 
knowledge,)  may  I beg  the  favour  to  know,”  said 
the  magistrate,  “ what  it  is  that  you  do  expect,  in 
consideration  of  your  not  having  taken  your  flight 
with  the  rest  of  the  jail-birds,  which  I will  admit 
was  a line  of  conduct  little  to  have  been  expected  ? ” 

“ I would  never  have  thought  for  a moment  of 


200 


TALES  0E  MY  LANDLORD, 


staying  in  that  auld  gousty  toom  house,”  answered 
Ratcliffe,  “ but  that  use  and  wont  had  just  gien  me 
a fancy  to  the  place,  and  I’m  just  expecting  a hit 
post  in’t.” 

“ A post  ? ” exclaimed  the  magistrate ; “ a whip- 
ping-post, I suppose,  you  mean  ? ” 

“ Na,  na,  sir,  I had  nae  thoughts  o’  a whuppin- 
post.  After  having  been  four  times  doomed  to 
hang  by  the  neck  till  I was  dead,  I think  I am  far 
beyond  being  whuppit.” 

“ Then,  in  Heaven's  name,  what  did  you  expect  ? ” 
“Just  the  post  of  under-turnkey,  for  I understand 
there's  a vacancy,”  said  the  prisoner;  “Iwadna  think 
of  asking  the  lockman’s 1 place  ower  his  head ; it 
wadna  suit  me  sae  weel  as  ither  folk,  for  I never 
could  put  a beast  out  o’  the  way,  much  less  deal  wi’ 
a man.” 

“ That’s  something  in  your  favour,”  said  the  magis- 
trate, making  exactly  the  inference  to  which  Ratcliffe 
was  desirous  to  lead  him,  though  he  mantled  his  art 
with  an  affectation  of  oddity.  “ But,”  continued  the 
magistrate,  “ how  do  you  think  you  can  be  trusted 
with  a charge  in  the  prison,  when  you  have  broken 
at  your  own  hand  half  the  jails  in  Scotland  ? ” 

“ Wi’  your  honour’s  leave,”  said  Ratcliffe,  “ if  I 
kend  sae  weel  how  to  wun  out  mysell,  it’s  like  I 
wad  be  a’  the  better  a hand  to  keep  other  folk  in. 
I think  they  wad  ken  their  business  weel  that  held 
me  in  when  I wanted  to  be  out,  or  wan  out  when  I 
wanted  to  haud  them  in.” 

The  remark  seemed  to  strike  the  magistrate,  but 
he  made  no  farther  immediate  observation,  only  de- 
sired Ratcliffe  to  be  removed. 

When  this  daring,  and  yet  sly  freebooter  was  out 
1 Note  VII. — Hangman,  or  Lockman. 


THE  HEART  OF  MlD-LOTHIAN. 


201 


of  hearing,  the  magistrate  asked  the  city-clerk, 
“ what  he  thought  of  the  fellow’s  assurance  ? ” 

“ It’s  no  for  me  to  say,  sir,”  replied  the  clerk ; 
“ but  if  James  Eatcliffe  be  inclined  to  turn  to  good, 
there  is  not  a man  e’er  came  within  the  ports  of  the 
burgh  could  be  of  sae  muckle  use  to  the  Good  Town 
in  the  thief  and  lock-up  line  of  business.  I’ll  speak 
; to  Mr.  Sharpitlaw  about  him.” 

* Upon  Ratcliffe’s  retreat,  Butler  was  placed  at  the 
table  for  examination.  The  magistrate  conducted 
his  enquiry  civilly,  but  yet  in  a manner  which  gave 
him  to  understand  that  he  laboured  under  strong 
suspicion.  With  a frankness  which  at  once  became 
his  calling  and  character,  Butler  avowed  his  involun- 
tary presence  at  the  murder  of  Porteous,  and,  at  the 
request  of  the  magistrate,  entered  into  a minute  de- 
tail of  the  circumstances  which  attended  that  un- 
happy affair.  All  the  particulars,  such  as  we  have 
narrated,  were  taken  minutely  down  by  the  clerk 
from  Butler’s  dictation. 

When  the  narrative  was  concluded,  the  cross- 
examination  commenced,  which  it  is  a painful  task 
even  for  the  most  candid  witness  to  undergo,  since 
a story,  especially  if  connected  with  agitating  and 
alarming  incidents,  can  scarce  be  so  clearly  and  dis- 
tinctly told,  but  that  some  ambiguity  and  doubt 
may  be  thrown  upon  it  by  a string  of  successive 
and  minute  interrogatories. 

The  magistrate  commenced  by  observing,  that 
Butler  had  said  his  object  was  to  return  to  the  vil- 
lage of  Libberton,  but  that  he  was  interrupted  by 
the  mob  at  the  West  Port.  “ Is  the  West  Port  your 
usual  way  of  leaving  town  when  you  go  to  Libber- 
ton  ? ” said  the  magistrate,  with  a sneer. 

“No,  certainly,”  answered  Butler,  with  the  haste 


202 


TALES  OE  MY  LANDLORD. 


of  a man  anxious  to  vindicate  the  accuracy  of  his 
evidence ; “ but  I chanced  to  be  nearer  that  port 
than  any  other,  and  the  hour  of  shutting  the  gates 
was  on  the  point  of  striking.” 

‘‘That  was  unlucky,”  said  the  magistrate,  dryly. 
“ Pray,  being,  as  you  say,  under  coercion  and  fear 
of  the  lawless  multitude,  and  compelled  to  accom- 
pany them  through  scenes  disagreeable  to  all  men 
of  humanity,  and  more  especially  irreconcilable  to< 
the  profession  of  a minister,  did  you  not  attempt  tc / 
struggle,  resist,  or  escape  from  their  violence  ?” 
Butler  replied,  “that  their  numbers  prevented 
him  from  attempting  resistance,  and  their  vigilance 
from  effecting  his  escape.” 

“That  was  unlucky,”  again  repeated  the  magis- 
trate, in  the  same  dry  inacquiescent  tone  of  voice 
and  manner.  He  proceeded  with  decency  and 
politeness,  but  with  a stiffness  which  argued  his 
continued  suspicion,  to  ask  many  questions  con- 
cerning the  behaviour  of  the  mob,  the  manners  and 
dress  of  the  ringleaders ; and  when  he  conceived 
that  the  caution  of  Butler,  if  he  was  deceiving  him, 
must  be  lulled  asleep,  the  magistrate  suddenly  and 
artfully  returned  to  former  parts  of  his  declaration, 
and  required  a new  recapitulation  of  the  circum- 
stances, to  the  minutest  and  most  trivial  point, 
which  attended  each  part  of  the  melancholy  scene. 
No  confusion  or  contradiction,  however,  occurred, 
that  could  countenance  the  suspicion  which  he 
seemed  to  have  adopted  against  Butler.  At  length 
the  train  of  his  interrogatories  reached  Madge  Wild- 
fire, at  whose  name  the  magistrate  and  town-clerk  ex- 
changed significant  glances.  If  the  fate  of  the  Good 
Town  had  depended  on  her  careful  magistrate’s  know- 
ing the  features  and  dress  of  this  personage,  his  em 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN.  203 

[ juiries  could  not  have  been  more  particular.  But 
^ Sutler  could  say  almost  nothing  of  this  person’s  fea- 
a ,ures,  which  were  disguised  apparently  with  red 
^ )aint  and  soot,  like  an  Indian  going  to  battle,  be- 
y rides  the  projecting  shade  of  a curch  or  coif,  which 
Hnuffled  the  hair  of  the  supposed  female.  He  de- 
clared that  he  thought  he  could  not  know  this 
Madge  Wildfire,  if  placed  before  him  in  a different 
>$ress,  but  that  he  believed  he  might  recognise  her 
\oice. 

The  magistrate  requested  him  again  to  state  by 
what  gate  he  left  the  city. 

“ By  the  Cowgate  Port,”  replied  Butler. 

“ Was  that  the  nearest  road  to  Libberton  ?” 

“No,”  answered  Butler,  with  embarrassment;  “but 
it  was  the  nearest  way  to  extricate  myself  from  the 
mob.” 

The  clerk  and  magistrate  again  exchanged  glances. 

“ Is  the  Cowgate  Port  a nearer  way  to  Libberton 
from  the  Grassmarket  than  Bristo  Port  ? ” 

“ No,”  replied  Butler ; “ but  I had  to  visit  a 
friend.” 

“Indeed?”  said  the  interrogator  — “ You  were 
in  a hurry  to  tell  the  sight  you  had  witnessed,  I 
suppose  ? ” 

“ Indeed  I was  not,”  replied  Butler ; “ nor  did  I 
speak  on  the  subject  the  whole  time  I was  at  Saint 
Leonard’s  Crags.” 

“ Which  road  did  you  take  to  Saint  Leonard’s 
Crags  ? ” 

“ By  the  foot  of  Salisbury  Crags,”  was  the  reply. 

“ Indeed  ? — you  seem  partial  to  circuitous  routes,” 
again  said  the  magistrate.  “ Whom  did  you  see  after 
you  left  the  city  ? ” 

One  by  one  he  obtained  a description  of  every  one 


204 


TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 


of  the  groups  who  had  passed  Butler,  as  alread; 
noticed,  their  number,  demeanour,  and  appearance 
and,  at  length,  came  to  the  circumstance  of  th 
mysterious  stranger  in  the  King’s  Park.  On  th i 
subject  Butler  would  fain  have  remained  siler 
Butrfthe  magistrate  had  no  sooner  got  a slight  hii 
concerning  the  incident,  than  he  seemed  bent  tc 
possess  himself  of  the  most  minute  particulars. 

“ Look  ye,  Mr.  Butler,”  said  he,  “ you  are  a your  g 
man,  and  bear  an  excellent  character ; so  much  * I 
will  myself  testify  in  your  favour.  But  we  are 
aware  there  has  been,  at  times,  a sort  of  bastard 
and  fiery  zeal  in  some  of  your  order,  and  those,  men 
irreproachable  in  other  points,  which  has  led  them 
into  doing  and  countenancing  great  irregularities,  by 
which  the  peace  of  the  country  is  liable  to  be 
shaken. — I will  deal  plainly  with  you.  I am  not 
at  all  satisfied  with  this  story,  of  your  setting  out 
again  and  again  to  seek  your  dwelling  by  two  several 
roads,  which  were  both  circuitous.  And,  to  be  frank, 
no  one  whom  we  have  examined  on  this  unhappy 
affair  could  trace  in  your  appearance  anything  like 
your  acting  under  compulsion.  Moreover,  the  wait- 
ers at  the  Cowgate  Port  observed  something  like  the 
trepidation  of  guilt  in  your  conduct,  and  declare  that 
you  were  the  first  to  command  them  to  open  the 
gate,  in  a tone  of  authority,  as  if  still  presiding  over 
the  guards  and  outposts  of  the  rabble,  who  had  be- 
sieged them  the  whole  night.” 

“ God  forgive  them  ! ” said  Butler ; “ I only  asked 
free  passage  for  myself ; they  must  have  much  mis- 
understood, if  they  did  not  wilfully  misrepresent 
me.” 

“Well,  Mr.  Butler,”  resumed  the  magistrate,  “I 
am  inclined  to  judge  the  best  and  hope  the  best,  as 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN. 


205 


I am  sure  I wish  the  best ; but  you  must  be  frank 
with  me,  if  you  wish  to  secure  my  good  opinion, 
and  lessen  the  risk  of  inconvenience  to  yourself. 
You  have  allowed  you  saw  another  individual  in 
your  passage  through  the  King’s  Park  to  Saint 
Leonard’s  Crags  — I must  know  every  word  which 
passed  betwixt  you.” 

Thus  closely  pressed,  Butler,  who  had  no  reason 
for  concealing  what  passed  at  that  meeting,  unless 
because  Jeanie  Deans  was  concerned  in  it,  thought 
it  best  to  tell  the  whole  truth  from  beginning  to 
end. 

“ Do  you  suppose,”  said  the  magistrate,  pausing, 
“ that  the  young  woman  will  accept  an  invitation 
so  mysterious  ? ” 

“ I fear  she  will,”  replied  Butler. 

“Why  do  you  use  the  word  fear  it?”  said  the 
magistrate. 

“ Because  I am  apprehensive  for  her  safety,  in 
meeting,  at  such  a time  and  place,  one  who  had 
something  of  the  manner  of  a desperado,  and  whose 
message  was  of  a character  so  inexplicable.” 

“ Her  safety  shall  be  cared  for,”  said  the  magis- 
trate. “ Mr.  Butler,  I am  concerned  I cannot  imme- 
diately discharge  you  from  confinement,  but  I hope 
you  will  not  be  long  detained.  — Remove  Mr.  But- 
ler, and  let  him  be  provided  with  decent  accommo- 
dation in  all  respects.” 

He  was  conducted  back  to  the  prison  accord- 
ingly ; but,  in  the  food  offered  to  him,  as  well  as 
in  the  apartment  in  which  he  was  lodged,  the  rec- 
ommendation of  the  magistrate  was  strictly  at- 
tended to. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 


Dark  and  eerie  was  the  night, 

And  lonely  was  the  way, 

As  Janet,  wi’  her  green  mantell, 

To  Miles’  Cross  she  did  gae. 

Old  Ballad. 

« 

Leaving  Butler  to  all  the  uncomfortable  thoughts 
attached  to  his  new  situation,  among  which  the 
most  predominant  was  his  feeling  that  he  was,  by 
his  confinement,  deprived  of  all  possibility  of  assist- 
ing the  family  at  Saint  Leonard’s  in  their  greatest 
need,  we  return  to  Jeanie  Deans,  who  had  seen  him 
depart,  without  an  opportunity  of  further  expla- 
nation, in  all  that  agony  of  mind  with  which  the 
female  heart  bids  adieu  to  the  complicated  sensa- 
tions so  well  described  by  Coleridge,  — * 

Hopes,  and  fears  that  kindle  hope, 

An  undistinguishable  throng  ; 

And  gentle  wishes  long  subdued  — 

Subdued  and  cherish’d  long. 

It  is  not  the  firmest  heart  (and  Jeanie,  under  her 
russet  rokelay,  had  one  that  would  not  have  dis- 
graced Cato’s  daughter)  that  can  most  easily  bid 
adieu  to  these  soft  and  mingled  emotions.  She  wept 
for  a few  minutes  bitterly,  and  without  attempting 
to  refrain  from  this  indulgence  of  passion.  But  a 
moment’s  recollection  induced  her  to  check  herself 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN. 


20  7 


for  a grief  selfish  and  proper  to  her  own  affections, 
while  her  father  and  sister  were  plunged  into  such 
deep  and  irretrievable  affliction.  She  drew  from 
her  pocket  the  letter  which  had  been  that  morning 
Hung  into  her  apartment  through  an  open  window, 
and  the  contents  of  which  were  as  singular  as  the 
expression  was  violent  and  energetic.  “ If  she 
would  save  a human  being  from  the  most  damning 
guilt,  and  all  its  desperate  consequences,  — if  she 
desired  the  life  and  honour  of  her  sister  to  be  saved 
from  the  bloody  fangs  of  an  unjust  law,  — if  she 
desired  not  to  forfeit  peace  of  mind  here,  and  hap- 
piness hereafter,”  such  was  the  frantic  style  of  the 
conjuration,  “ she  was  entreated  to  give  a sure, 
secret,  and  solitary  meeting  to  the  writer.  She 
alone  could  rescue  him,”  so  ran  the  letter,  “ and  he 
only  could  rescue  her.”  He  was  in  such  circum- 
stances, the  billet  farther  informed  her,  that  an 
attempt  to  bring  any  witness  of  their  conference,  or 
even  to  mention  to  her  father,  or  any  other  person 
whatsoever,  the  letter  which  requested  it,  would 
inevitably  prevent  its  taking  place,  and  ensure  the 
destruction  of  her  sister.  The  letter  concluded  with 
incoherent  but  violent  protestations,  that  in  obeying 
this  summons  she  had  nothing  to  fear  personally. 

The  message  delivered  to  her  by  Butler  from  the 
stranger  in  the  Park  tallied  exactly  with  the  con- 
tents of  the  letter,  but  assigned  a later  hour  and  a 
different  place  of  meeting.  Apparently  the  writer 
of  the  letter  had  been  compelled  to  let  Butler  so  far 
into  his  confidence,  for  the  sake  of  announcing  this 
change  to  Jeanie.  She  was  more  than  once  on  the 
point  of  producing  the  billet,  in  vindication  of  her- 
self from  her  lover’s  half-hinted  suspicions.  But 
there  is  something  in  stooping  to  justification  which 


2o8  tales  of  my  landlord. 

the  pride  of  innocence  does  not  at  all  times  will- 
ingly  submit  to ; besides  that  the  threats  contained 
in  the  letter,  in  case  of  her  betraying  the  secret, 
hung  heavy  on  her  heart.  It  is  probable,  however, 
that,  had  they  remained  longer  together,  she  might 
have  taken  the  resolution  to  submit  the  whole  mat- 
ter to  Butler,  and  be  guided  by  him  as  to  the  line  of 
conduct  which  she  should  adopt.  And  when,  by 
the  sudden  interruption  of  their  conference,  she  lost 
the  opportunity  of  doing  so,  she  felt  as  if  she  had 
been  unjust  to  a friend,  whose  advice  might  have 
been  highly  useful,  and  whose  attachment  deserved 
her  full  and  unreserved  confidence. 

To  have  recourse  to  her  father  upon  this  occa- 
sion, she  considered  as  highly  imprudent.  There 
was  no  possibility  of  conjecturing  in  what  light  the 
matter  might  strike  old  David,  whose  manner  of 
acting  and  thinking  in  extraordinary  circumstances 
depended  upon  feelings  and  principles  peculiar  to 
himself,  the  operation  of  which  could  not  be  calcu- 
lated  upon  even  by  those  best  acquainted  with  him. 
To  have  requested  some  female  friend  to  have 
accompanied  her  to  the  place  of  rendezvous,  would 
perhaps  have  been  the  most  eligible  expedient ; but 
the  threats  of  the  writer,  that  betraying  his  secret 
would  prevent  their  meeting  (on  which  her  sister’s 
safety  was  said  to  depend)  from  taking  place  at  all, 
would  have  deterred  her  from  making  such  a con- 
fidence, even  had  she  known  a person  in  whom  she 
thought  it  could  with  safety  have  been  reposed. 
But  she  knew  none  such.  Their  acquaintance  with 
the  cottagers  in  the  vicinity  had  been  very  slight 
and  limited  to  trilling  acts  of  good  neighbourhood. 
Jeanie  knew  little  of  them,  and  what  she  knew  did 
not  greatly  incline  her  to  trust  any  of  them.  They 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN. 


209 


were  of  the  order  of  loquacious  good-humoured 
gossips  usually  found  in  their  situation  of  life ; 
and  their  conversation  had  at  all  times  few  charms 
for  a young  woman,  to  whom  nature  and  the  circum- 
stance of  a solitary  life  had  given  a depth  of  thought 
and  force  of  character  superior  to  the  frivolous  part 
of  her  sex,  whether  in  high  or  low  degree. 

Left  alone  and  separated  from  all  earthly  coun- 
sel, she  had  recourse  to  a friend  and  adviser,  whose 
ear  is  open  to  the  cry  of  the  poorest  and  most 
afflicted  of  his  people.  She  knelt,  and  prayed  with 
fervent  sincerity,  that  God  would  please  to  direct 
her  what  course  to  follow  in  her  arduous  and  dis- 
tressing situation.  It  was  the  belief  of  the  time  and 
sect  to  which  she  belonged,  that  special  answers 
to  prayer,  differing  little  in  their  character  from 
divine  inspiration,  were,  as  they  expressed  it,  “ borne 
in  upon  their  minds”  in  answer  to  their  earnest 
petitions  in  a crisis  of  difficulty.  Without  entering 
into  an  abstruse  point  of  divinity,  one  thing  is  plain  ; 
namely,  that  the  person  who  lays  open  his  doubts 
and  distresses  in  prayer,  with  feeling  and  sincerity, 
must  necessarily,  in  the  act  of  doing  so,  purify  his 
mind  from  the  dross  of  worldly  passions  and  inter- 
ests, and  bring  it  into  that  state,  when  the  resolu- 
tions adopted  are  likely  to  be  selected  rather  from 
a sense  of  duty,  than  from  any  inferior  motive^ 
Jeanie  arose  from  her  devotions,  with  her  heart 
fortified  to  endure  affliction,  and  encouraged  to 
face  difficulties. 

“ I will  meet  this  unhappy  man,”  she  said  to 
herself  — “ unhappy  he  must  be,  since  I doubt  he 
has  been  the  cause  of  poor  Effie’s  misfortune  — but 
I will  meet  him,  be  it  for  good  or  ill.  My  mind 
shall  never  cast  up  to  me,  that,  for  fear  of  what 


210 


TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 


might  be  said  or  done  to  myself,  I left  that  undone 
that  might  even  yet  be  the  rescue  of  her.” 

With  a mind  greatly  composed  since  the  adoption 
of  this  resolution,  she  went  to  attend  her  father. 
The  old  man,  firm  in  the  principles  of  his  youth, 
did  not,  in  outward  appearance  at  least,  permit  a 
thought  of  his  family  distress  to  interfere  with  the 
stoical  reserve  of  his  countenance  and  manners. 
He  even  chid  his  daughter  for  having  neglected,  in 
the  distress  of  the  morning,  some  trifling  domestic 
duties  which  fell  under  her  department. 

“Why,  what  meaneth  this,  Jeanie?”  said  the 
old  man  — “ The  brown  four-year-auld’s  milk  is  not 
seiled  yet,  nor  the  bowies  put  up  on  thebink.  If  ye 
neglect  your  warldly  duties  in  the  day  of  affliction, 
what  confidence  have  I that  ye  mind  the  greater  « 
matters  that  concern  salvation  ? God  knows,  our 
bowies,  and  our  pipkins,  and  our  draps  o’  milk,  and  • 
our  bits  o’  bread,  are  nearer  and  dearer  to  us  than 
the  bread  of  life.” 

Jeanie,  not  unpleased  to  hear  her  father’s 
thoughts  thus  expand  themselves  beyond  the  sphere 
of  his  immediate  distress,  obeyed  him,  and  proceeded . 
to  put  her  household  matters  in  order;  while: 
old  David  moved  from  place  to  place  about  his  ordi- ' 
nary  employments,  scarce  showing,  unless  by  a ner- 
vous  impatience  at  remaining  long  stationary,  an 
occasional  convulsive  sigh,  or  twinkle  of  the  eye- 
lid, that  he  was  labouring  under  the  yoke  of  such 
bitter  affliction. 

The  hour  of  noon  came  on,  and  the  father  and 
child  sat  down  to  their  homely  repast.  In  his  peti- 
tion for  a blessing  on  the  meal,  the  poor  old  man 
added  to  his  supplication,  a prayer  that  the  bread 
eaten  in  sadness  of  heart,  and  the  bitter  waters 


TIIE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTIilAN. 


21 


of  Merah,  might  be  made  as  nourishing  as  those 
which  had  been  poured  forth  from  a full  cup  and 
a plentiful  basket  and  store ; and  having  concluded 
his  benediction,  and  resumed  the  bonnet  which  he 
had  laid  “ reverently  aside,”  he  proceeded  to  ex- 
hort his  daughter  to  eat,  not  by  example  indeed, 
but  at  least  by  precept. 

“ The  man  after  God’s  own  heart,”  he  said, 
“ washed  and  anointed  himself,  and  did  eat  bread, 
in  order  to  express  his  submission  under  a dispensa- 
tion of  suffering,  and  it  did  not  become  a Christian 
man  or  woman  so  to  cling  to  creature-comforts  of 
wife  or  bairns,”  — (here  the  words  became  too  great, 
as  it  were,  for  his  utterance,)  — “ as  to  forget  the 
first  duty  — submission  to  the  Divine  will.” 

To  add  force  to  his  precept,  he  took  a morsel  on 
his  plate,  but  nature  proved  too  strong  even  for  the 
powerful  feelings  with  which  he  endeavoured  to 
bridle  it.  Ashamed  of  his  weakness,  he  started  up, 
and  ran  out  of  the  house,  with  haste  very  unlike  the 
deliberation  of  his  usual  movements.  In  less  than 
five  minutes  he  returned,  having  successfully  strug- 
gled to  recover  his  ordinary  composure  of  mind  and 
countenance,  and  affected  to  colour  over  his  late 
retreat,  by  muttering  that  he  thought  he  heard  the 
“ young  staig  loose  in  the  byre.” 

He  did  not  again  trust  himself  with  the  subject 
of  his  former  conversation,  and  his  daughter  was  glad 
to  see  that  he  seemed  to  avoid  further  discourse 
on  that  agitating  topic.  The  hours  glided  on,  as  on 
they  must  and  do  pass,  whether  winged  with  joy  or 
laden  with  affliction.  The  sun  set  beyond  the  dusky 
eminence  of  the  Castle,  and  the  screen  of  western 
hills,  and  the  close  of  evening  summoned  David 
Deans  and  his  daughter  to  the  family  duty  of  the 


212 


TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 


night.  It  came  bitterly  upon  Jeanie’s  recollection, 
how  often,  when  the  hour  of  worship  approached, 
she  used  to  watch  the  lengthening  shadows,  and 
look  out  from  the  door  of  the  house,  to  see  if  she 
could  spy  her  sister’s  return  homeward.  Alas  ! this 
idle  and  thoughtless  waste  of  time,  to  what  evils 
had  it  not  finally  led  ? and  was  she  altogether  guilt- 
less, who,  noticing  Effie’s  turn  to  idle  and  light  so- 
ciety, had  not  called  in  her  father’s  authority  to 
restrain  her  ? — But  I acted  for  the  best,  she  again 
reflected,  and  who  could  have  expected  such  a 
growth  of  evil,  from  one  grain  of  human  leaven,  in 
a disposition  so  kind,  and  candid,  and  generous  ? 

As  they  sate  down  to  the  “ exercise,”  as  it  is 
called,  a chair  happened  accidentally  to  stand  in  the 
place  which  Effie  usually  occupied.  David  Deans 
saw  his  daughter’s  eyes  swim  in  tears  as  they  were 
directed  towards  this  object,  and  pushed  it  aside, 
with  a gesture  of  some  impatience,  as  if  desirous 
to  destroy  every  memorial  of  earthly  interest  when 
about  to  address  the  Deity.  The  portion  of  Scrip- 
ture was  read,  the  psalm  was  sung,  the  prayer  was 
made ; and  it  was  remarkable  that,  in  discharging 
these  duties,  the  old  man  avoided  all  passages  and 
expressions,  of  which  Scripture  affords  so  many, 
that  might  be  considered  as  applicable  to  his  own 
domestic  misfortune.  In  doing  so  it  was  perhaps 
his  intention  to  spare  the  feelings  of  his  daughter, 
as  well  as  to  maintain,  in  outward  show  at  least, 
that  stoical  appearance  of  patient  endurance  of  all 
the  evil  which  earth  could  bring,  which  was,  in  his 
opinion,  essential  to  the  character  of  one  who  rated 
all  earthly  things  at  their  own  just  estimate  of 
nothingness.  When  he  had  finished  the  duty  of  the 
evening,  he  came  up  to  his  daughter,  wished  her 


THE  HEART  OE  MID-LOTHIAN. 


213 


good-night,  and,  having  done  so,  continued  to  hold 
her  by  the  hands  for  half  a minute ; then  drawing 
her  towards  him,  kissed  her  forehead,  and  ejacula- 
ted, “ The  God  of  Israel  bless  you,  even  with  the 
blessings  of  the  promise,  my  dear  bairn  ! ” 

It  was  not  either  in  the  nature  or  habits  of  Da- 
vid Deans  to  seem  a fond  father ; nor  was  he  often 
observed  to  experience,  or  at  least  to  evince,  that 
fulness  of  the  heart  which  seeks  to  expand  itself  in 
tender  expressions  or  caresses  even  to  those  who 
were  dearest  to  him.  On  the  contrary,  he  used  to 
censure  this  as  a degree  of  weakness  in  several  of 
his  neighbours,  and  particularly  in  poor  widow 
Butler.  It  followed,  however,  from  the  rarity  of 
such  emotions  in  this  self-denied  and  reserved  man, 
that  his  children  attached  to  occasional  marks  of 
his  affection  and  approbation  a degree  of  high  in- 
terest and  solemnity  ; well  considering  them  as 
evidences  of  feelings  which  were  only  expressed 
when  they  became  too  intense  for  suppression  or 
concealment. 

With  deep  emotion,  therefore,  did  he  bestow, 
and  his  daughter  receive,  this  benediction  and  pa- 
ternal caress.  “And  you,  my  dear  father,' ” ex- 
claimed Jeanie,  when  the  door  had  closed  upon  the 
venerable  old  man,  “ may  you  have  purchased  and 
promised  blessings  multiplied  upon  you  — upon 
you , who  walk  in  this  world  as  though  you  were  not 
of  the  world,  and  hold  all  that  it  can  give  or  take 
away  but  as  the  midges  that  the  sun-blink  brings 
out,  and  the  evening  wind  sweeps  away ! ” 

She  now  made  preparation  for  her  night-walk. 
Her  father  slept  in  another  part  of  the  dwelling, 
and,  regular  in  all  his  habits,  seldom  or  never  left 
his  apartment  when  he  had  betaken  himself  to  it 


214 


TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 


for  the  evening.  It  was  therefore  easy  for  her  to 
leave  the  house  unobserved,  so  soon  as  the  time 
approached  at  which  she  was  to  keep  her  appoint- 
ment. But  the  step  she  was  about  to  take  had 
difficulties  and  terrors  in  her  own  eyes,  though  she 
had  no  reason  to  apprehend  her  father’s  interfer- 
ence. Her  life  had  been  spent  in  the  quiet,  uni- 
form, and  regular  seclusion  of  their  peaceful  and 
monotonous  household.  The  very  hour  which  some 
damsels  of  the  present  day,  as  well  of  her  own  as  of 
higher  degree,  would  consider  as  the  natural  period 
of  commencing  an  evening  of  pleasure,  brought,  in 
her  opinion,  awe  and  solemnity  in  it ; and  the  re- 
solution she  had  taken  had  a strange,  daring,  and 
adventurous  character,  to  which  she  could  hardly 
reconcile  herself  when  the  moment  approached  for  . 
putting  it  into  execution.  Her  hands  trembled  as 
she  snooded  her  fair  hair  beneath  the  ribband,  then  ! 
the  only  ornament  or  cover  which  young  unmar-  >. 
ried  women  wore  on  their  head,  and  as  she  adjusted 
the  scarlet  tartan  screen  or  muffler  made  of  plaid, 
which  the  Scottish  women  wore,  much  in  the 
fashion  of  the  black  silk  veils  still  a part  of  female  . 
dress  in  the  Netherlands.  A sense  of  impropriety  j 
as  well  as  of  danger  pressed  upon  her,  as  she  lifted  ' 
the  latch  of  her  paternal  mansion  to  leave  it  on  so  .• 
wild  an  expedition,  and  at  so  late  an  hour,  unpro- 
tected, and  without  the  knowledge  of  her  natural 
guardian. 

When  she  found  herself  abroad  and  in  the  open 
fields,  additional  subjects  of  apprehension  crowded 
upon  her.  The  dim  cliffs  and  scattered  rocks,  inter- 
spersed with  green  sward,  through  which  she  had 
to  pass  to  the  place  of  appointment,  as  they  glim- 
mered before  her  in  a clear  autumn  night,  recalled 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN. 


215 


to  her  memory  many  a deed  of  violence,  which, 
according  to  tradition,  had  been  done  and  suffered 
among  them.  In  earlier  days  they  had  been  the 
haunt  of  robbers  and  assassins,  the  memory  of 
whose  crimes  are  preserved  in  the  various  edicts 
which  the  council  of  the  city,  and  even  the  parlia- 
ment of  Scotland,  had  passed  for  dispersing  their 
bands,  and  ensuring  safety  to  the  lieges,  so  near  the 
precincts  of  the  city.  The  names  of  these  crimi- 
nals, and  of  their  atrocities,  were  still  remembered 
in  traditions  of  the  scattered  cottages  and  the 
neighbouring  suburb.  In  latter  times,  as  we  have 
already  noticed,  the  sequestered  and  broken  charac- 
ter of  the  ground  rendered  it  a fit  theatre  for  duels 
and  rencontres  among  the  fiery  youth  of  the  period. 
Two  or  three  of  these  incidents,  all  sanguinary,  and 
one  of  them  fatal  in  its  termination,  had  happened 
since  Deans  came  to  live  at  Saint  Leonard’s.  His 
daughter’s  recollections,  therefore,  were  of  blood 
and  horror  as  she  pursued  the  small  scarce-tracked 
solitary  path,  every  step  of  which  conveyed  her  to 
a greater  distance  from  help,  and  deeper  into  the 
ominous  seclusion  of  these  unhallowed  precincts. 

As  the  moon  began  to  peer  forth  on  the  scene 
with  a doubtful,  flitting,  and  solemn  light,  Jeanie’s 
apprehensions  took  another  turn,  too  peculiar  to 
her  rank  and  country  to  remain  unnoticed.  But  to 
trace  its  origin  will  require  another  chapter. 


CHAPTER  XV. 


— The  spirit  I have  seen 

May  be  the  devil.  And  the  devil  has  power 
To  assume  a pleasing  shape. 

Hamlet, 

Witchcraft  and  demonology,  as  we  have  had  al- 
ready occasion  to  remark,  were  at  this  period  be- 
lieved in  by  almost  all  ranks,  but  more  especially 
among  the  stricter  classes  of  presbyterians,  whose 
government,  when  their  party  were  at  the  head  of, 
the  state,  had  been  much  sullied  by  their  eagerness 
to  enquire  into,  and  persecute  these  imaginary 
crimes.  Now,  in  this  point  of  view,  also,  Saint 
Leonard’s  Crags  and  the  adjacent  Chase  were  a 
dreaded  and  ill-reputed  district.  Not  only  had 
witches  held  their  meetings  there,  but  even  of  very 
late  years  the  enthusiast,  or  impostor,  mentioned  in 
the  Pandemonium  of  Richard  Bovet,  (l)  Gentleman,1 
had,  among  the  recesses  of  these  romantic  cliffs,- 
found  his  way  into  the  hidden  retreats  where  the^ 
fairies  revel  in  the  bowels  of  the  earth. 

With  all  these  legends  Jeanie  Deans  was  too  well 
acquainted,  to  escape  that  strong  impression  which 
they  usually  make  on  the  imagination.  Indeed,  re- 
lations of  this  ghostly  kind  had  been  familiar  to  her 
from  her  infancy,  for  they  were  the  only  relief  which 
her  father’s  conversation  afforded  from  controver- 
sial argument,  or  the  gloomy  history  of  the  striv 
2 Note  VIII. — The  Fairy  Boy  of  Leith. 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN. 


217 


ings  and  testimonies,  escapes,  captures,  tortures, 
and  executions  of  those  martyrs  of  the  Covenant, 
with  whom  it  was  his  chiefest  boast  to  say  he  had 
been  acquainted.  In  the  recesses  of  mountains, 
in  caverns,  and  in  morasses,  to  which  these  perse- 
cuted enthusiasts  were  so  ruthlessly  pursued,  they 
conceived  they  had  often  to  contend  with  the  visi- 
ble assaults  of  the  Enemy  of  mankind,  as  in  the 
cities,  and  in  the  cultivated  fields,  they  were  ex- 
posed to  those  of  the  tyrannical  government  and 
their  soldiery.  Such  were  the  terrors  which  made 
one  of  their  gifted  seers  exclaim,  when  his  compan- 
ion returned  to  him,  after  having  left  him  alone  in 
a haunted  cavern  in  Sorn  in  Galloway,  “ It  is  hard 
living  in  this  world  — incarnate  devils  above  the 
earth,  and  devils  under  the  earth  ! Satan  has  been 
here  since  ye  went  away,  but  I have  dismissed  him 
by  resistance ; we  will  be  no  more  troubled  with 
him  this  night.,,  David  Deans  believed  this,  and 
many  other  such  ghostly  encounters  and  victories, 
on  the  faith  of  the  Ansars,  or  auxiliaries  of  the 
banished  prophets.  This  event  was  beyond  David’s 
remembrance.  But  he  used  to  tell  with  great  awe, 
yet  not  without  a feeling  of  proud  superiority  to 
his  auditors,  how  he  himself  had  been  present  at  a 
field-meeting  at  Crochmade,  when  the  duty  of  the 
day  was  interrupted  by  the  apparition  of  a tall  black 
man,  who,  in  the  act  of  crossing  a ford  to  join  the 
congregation,  1 »st  ground,  and  was  carried  down 
apparently  by  the  force  of  the  stream.  All  were 
instantly  at  work  to  assist  him,  but  with  so  little 
success,  that  ten  or  twelve  stout  men,  who  had  hold 
of  the  rope  which  they  had  cast  in  to  his  aid,  were 
rather  in  danger  to  be  dragged  into  the  stream, 
and  lose  their  own  lives,  than  likely  to  save  that  of 


218 


TALES  OE  MY  LANDLORD. 


the  supposed  perishing  man.  “But  famous  John 
Semple  of  Carbarn/'  David  Deans  used  to  say 
with  exultation,  “ saw  the  whaup  in  the  rape.  - — 

‘ Quit  the  rope/  he  cried  to  us,  (for  I that  was  but 
a callant  had  a haud  o’  the  rape  mysell,)  ‘ it  is  the 
Great  Enemy ! he  will  burn,  but  not  drown  ; his 
design  is  to  disturb  the  good  wark,  by  raising  won- 
der and  confusion  in  your  minds  ; to  put  off  from 
your  spirits  all  that  ye  hae  heard  and  felt/  — Sae 
we  let  go  the  rape,”  said  David,  “ and  he  went  adown 
the  water  screeching  and  bullering  like  a Bull  of 
Bashan,  as  he’s  ca’d  in  Scripture.”  1 

Trained  in  these  and  similar  legends,  it  was  no 
wonder  that  Jeanie  began  to  feel  an  ill-defined  ap- 
prehension, not  merely  of  the  phantoms  which  might 
beset  her  way,  but  of  the  quality,  nature,  and  pur-  t 
pose  of  the  being  who  had  thus  appointed  her  a 
meeting,  at  a place  and  hour  of  horror,  and  at  a 
time  when  her  mind  must  be  necessarily  full  of  * 
those  tempting  and  ensnaring  thoughts  of  grief  and 
despair,  which  were  supposed  to  lay  sufferers  par- 
ticularly open  to  the  temptations  of  the  Evil  One. 
If  such  an  idea  had  crossed  even  Butler’s  well-  . 
informed  mind,  it  was  calculated  to  make  a much 
stronger  impression  upon  hers.  Yet  firmly  be- \ 
lieving  the  possibility  of  an  encounter  so  terrible  * 
to  flesh  and  blood,  Jeanie,  with  a degree  of  resolu-  \ 
tion  of  which  we  cannot  sufficiently  estimate  the 
merit,  because  the  incredulity  of  the  age  has  ren- 
dered us  strangers  to  the  nature  and  extent  of  her 
feelings,  persevered  in  her  determination  not  to  | 
omit  an  opportunity  of  doing  something  towards 
saving  her  sister,  although,  in  the  attempt  to  avail 

1 Note  IX.  — Intercourse  of  the  Covenanters  with  the  Invis* 
ible  World. 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN. 


219 


herself  of  it,  she  might  be  exposed  to  dangers  so 
dreadful  to  her  imagination.  So,  like  Christiana  in 
the  Pilgrim’s  Progress,  when  traversing  with  a 
timid  yet  resolved  step  the  terrors  of  the  Valley  of 
the  Shadow  of  Death,  she  glided  on  by  rock  and 
stone,  “ now  in  glimmer  and  now  in  gloom,”  as  her 
path  lay  through  moonlight  or  shadow,  and  en- 
deavoured to  overpower  the  suggestions  of  fear, 
sometimes  by  fixing  her  mind  upon  the  distressed 
condition  of  her  sister,  and  the  duty  she  lay  under 
to  afford  her  aid,  should  that  be  in  her  power ; and 
more  frequently  by  recurring  in  mental  prayer  to 
the  protection  of  that  Being  to  whom  night  is  as 
noon-day. 

Thus  drowning  at  one  time  her  fears  by  fixing 
her  mind  on  a subject  of  overpowering  interest,  and 
arguing  them  down  at  others  by  referring  herself 
to  the  protection  of  the  Deity,  she  at  length  ap- 
proached the  place  assigned  for  this  mysterious 
conference. 

It  was  situated  in  the  depth  of  the  valley  behind 
Salisbury  Crags,  which  has  for  a background  the 
north-western  shoulder  of  the  mountain  called  Ar- 
thur’s Seat,  on  whose  descent  still  remain  the  ruins 
of  what  was  once  a chapel,  or  hermitage,  dedicated 
to  Saint  Anthony  the  Eremite.  A better  site  for 
such  a building  could  hardly  have  been  selected ; 
for  the  chapel,  situated  among  the  rude  and  path- 
less cliffs,  lies  in  a desert,  even  in  the  immediate 
vicinity  of  a rich,  populous,  and  tumultuous  capital: 
and  the  hum  of  the  city  might  mingle  with  the  ori- 
sons of  the  recluses,  conveying  as  little  of  worldly 
interest  as  if  it  had  been  the  roar  of  the  distant 
ocean.  Beneath  the  steep  ascent  on  which  these 
ruins  are  still  visible,  was,  and  perhaps  is  still  pointed 


/*\ 

. 6 

220  TALES  0E  MY  LANDLORD. 

out,  the  place  where  the  wretch  Nicol  Muschat,  who 
has  been  already  mentioned  in  these  pages,  had 
closed  a long  scene  of  cruelty  towards  his  unfortu- 
nate wife,  by  murdering  her,  with  circumstances  of 
uncommon  barbarity.1  The  execration  in  which  the 
man's  crime  was  held  (m)  extended  itself  to  the 
place  where  it  was  perpetrated,  which  was  marked 
by  a small  cairn , or  heap  of  stones,  composed  of 
those  which  each  chance  passenger  had  thrown  there 
in  testimony  of  abhorrence,  and  on  the  principle, 
it  would  seem,  of  the  ancient  British  malediction, 
“ May  you  have  a cairn  for  your  burial-place ! ” 

As  our  heroine  approached  this  ominous  and  un- 
hallowed spot,  she  paused  and  looked  to  the  moon, 
now  rising  broad  on  the  north-west,  and  shedding  a 
more  distinct  light  than  it  had  afforded  during  her 
walk  thither.  Eyeing  the  planet  for  a moment,  she 
then  slowly  and  fearfully  turned  her  head  toward^ 
the  cairn,  from  which  it  was  at  first  averted.  She 
was  at  first  disappointed.  Nothing  was  visible  be- 
side the  little  pile  of  stones,  which  shone  grey  in 
the  moonlight.  A multitude  of  confused  suggest 
tions  rushed  on  her  mind.  Had  her  correspondent 
deceived  her,  and  broken  his  appointment  ? — was 
he  too  tardy  at  the  appointment  he  had  made  ? — oi 
had  some  strange  turn  of  fate  prevented  him  fron^ 
appearing  as  he  proposed  ? — or,  if  he  were  an  uni 
earthly  being,  as  her  secret  apprehensions  suggested, 
was  it  his  object  merely  to  delude  her  with  false 
hopes,  and  put  her  to  unnecessary  toil  and  terror, 
according  to  the  nature,  as  she  had  heard,  of  those 
wandering  demons?  — or  did  he  purpose  to  blast 
her  with  the  sudden  horrors  of  his  presence  when 
she  had  come  close  to  the  place  of  rendezvous  \ 
1 Note  VI. — Muschat ’s  Cairn. 


TIIE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN. 


221 


^These  anxious  reflections  did  not  prevent  her  ap- 
proaching to  the  cairn  with  a pace  that,  though  slow, 
vas  determined. 

When  she  was  within  two  yards  of  the  heap  of 
tones,  a figure  rose  suddenly  up  from  behind  it,  and 
Jeanie  scarce  forbore  to  scream  aloud  at  what  seemed 
he  realization  of  the  most  frightful  of  her  anticipa- 
ons.  She  constrained  herself  to  silence,  however, 
^nd,  making  a dead  pause,  suffered  the  figure  to 
‘open  the  conversation,  which  he  did,  by  asking,  in 
voice  which  agitation  rendered  tremulous  and 
[hollow,  “ Are  you  the  sister  of  that  ill-fated  young 
[woman  ? ” 

I am  — I am  the  sister  of  Effie  Deans ! ” ex- 
daimed  Jeanie.  “ And  as  ever  you  hope  God  will 
ear  you  at  your  need,  tell  me,  if  you  can  tell,  what 
tan  be  done  to  save  her ! ” 

“ I do  not  hope  God  will  hear  me  at  my  need/’ 
as  the  singular  answer.  “ I do  not  deserve  — I do 
ot  expect  he  will.”  This  desperate  language  he 
jittered  in  a tone  calmer  than  that  with  which  he 
lIiad  at  first  spoken,  probably  because  the  shock  of 
rst  addressing  her  was  what  he  felt  most  difficult 
overcome.  Jeanie  remained  mute  with  horror  to 
J'jear  language  expressed  so  utterly  foreign  to  all 
hich  she  had  ever  been  acquainted  with,  that  it 
unded  in  her  ears  rather  like  that  of  a fiend  than 
f a human  being.  The  stranger  pursued  his  ad- 
ress  to  her  without  seeming  to  notice  her  surprise. 
You  see  before  you  a wretch,  predestined  to  evil 
here  and  hereafter.” 

“For  the  sake  of  Heaven,  that  hears  and  sees  us,” 
said  Jeanie,  “ dinna  speak  in  this  desperate  fashion  !x 
The  gospel  is  sent  to  the  chief  of  sinners  — to  the 
most  miserable  among  the  miserable” 


222 


TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 


“ Then  should  I have  my  own  share  therein/’  saic^ 
the  stranger,  “ if  you  call  it  sinful  to  have  been  the] 
destruction  of  the  mother  that  bore  me  — of  the 
friend  that  loved  me  — of  the  woman  that  trustedl 
me  — of  the  innocent  child  that  was  born  to  me.  Ifl 
to  have  done  all  this  is  to  be  a sinner,  and  to  sur-J 
vive  it  is  to  be  miserable,  then  am  I most  guilty 
and  most  miserable  indeed.” 

“ Then  you  are  the  wicked  cause  of  my  sister’d 
ruin  ?”  said  Jeanie,  with  a natural  touch  of  indigna-d 
tion  expressed  in  her  tone  of  voice. 

‘'Curse  me  for  it,  if  you  will,”  said  the  stranger;] 
“ I have  well  deserved  it  at  your  hand.” 

“It  is  fitter  for  me,”  said  Jeanie,  “to  pray  tq 
God  to  forgive  you.” 

“ Do  as  you  will,  how  you  will,  or  what  you  will/J 
he  replied,  with  vehemence ; “ only  promise  to  obej 
my  directions,  and  save  your  sister’s  life.” 

“ I must  first  know,”  said  Jeanie,  “ the  means  yoi 
would  have  me  use  in  her  behalf.” 

“ No ! — you  must  first  swear  — solemnly  swear 
that  you  will  employ  them,  when  I make  ther 
known  to  you.” 

“ Surely,  it  is  needless  to  swear  that  I will  do  all 
that  is  lawful  to  a Christian,  to  save  the  life  of  mj 
sister?” 

“ I will  have  no  reservation ! ” thundered  th| 
stranger ; “ lawful  or  unlawful,  Christian  or  heather 
you  shall  swear  to  do  my  hest,  and  act  by  mj| 
counsel,  or  — you  little  know  whose  wrath  yor 
provoke ! ” 

“ I will  think  on  what  you  have  said,”  said  Jeanie, 
who  began  to  get  much  alarmed  at  the  frantic 
vehemence  of  his  manner,  and  disputed  in  her  own 
mind,  whether  she  spoke  to  a maniac,  or  an  apostate 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN. 


223 


spirit  incarnate  — “ I will  think  on  what  you  say, 
and  let  you  ken  to-morrow.” 

“ To-morrow  ! ” exclaimed  the  man,  with  a laugh 
of  scorn  — “ And  where  will  I be  to-morrow  ? — or, 
where  will  you  be  to-night,  unless  you  swear  to 
walk  by  my  counsel  ? — There  was  one  accursed 
deed  done  at  this  spot  before  now  ; and  there  shall 
be  another  to  match  it,  unless  you  yield  up  to  my 
guidance  body  and  soul.,, 

As  he  spoke,  he  offered  a pistol  at  the  unfortu- 
nate young  woman.  She  neither  fled  nor  fainted, 
but  sunk  on  her  knees,  and  asked  him  to  spare  her 
life. 


“ Is  that  all  you  have  to  say  ? ” said  the  unmoved 
ruffian. 

“ Do  not  dip  your  hands  in  the  blood  of  a de- 
fenceless creature  that  has  trusted  to  you,”  said 
Jeanie,  still  on  her  knees. 

“ Is  that  all  you  can  say  for  your  life  ? — Have 
you  no  promise  to  give?  — Will  you  destroy  your 
sister,  and  compel  me  to  shed  more  blood  ? ” 

“I  can  promise  nothing,”  said  Jeanie,  “ which 

is  Chriritionr^  ■ — 

re  cocked  the  weapon,  and  held  it  towards  her. 

“ May  God  forgive  you!”  she  said,  pressing  her' 
hands  forcibly  against  her  eyes. 

“ D n ! ” muttered  the  man  ; and,  turning 

aside  from  her,  he  uncocked  the  pistol,  and  re- 
placed it  in  his  pocket  — “ I am  a villain,”  he  said, 

“ steeped  in  guilt  and  wretchedness,  but  not  wicked 
enough  to  do  you  any  harm  ! I only  wished  to  ter- 
rify you  into  my  measures  — She  hears  me  not  — 
she  is  gone  ! — Great  God  ! what  a wretch  am  I 
become ! ” 

As  he  spoke,  she  recovered  herself  from  an  agony 


224 


TALES  OE  MY  LANDLORD. 

which  partook  of  the  bitterness  of  death  , and,  in 
a minute  or  two,  through  the  strong  exertion  of 
her  natural  sense  and  courage,  collected  herself 
sufficiently  to  understand  he  intended  her  no  per- 
sonal injury. 

“ No  ! ” he  repeated ; “ I would  not  add  to  the 
murder  of  your  sister,  and  of  her  child,  that  of  any 
one  belonging  to  her  ! — Mad,  frantic,  as  I am,  and 
unrestrained  by  either  fear  or  mercy,  given  up  to 
the  possession  of  an  evil  being,  and  forsaken  by  all 
that  is  good,  I would  not  hurt  you,  were  the  world 
offered  me  for  a bribe ! But,  for  the  sake  of  all  that 
is  dear  to  you,  swear  you  will  follow  my  counsel. 
Take  this  weapon,  shoot  me  through  the  head,  and 
with  your  own  hand  revenge  your  sister  s wrong,  j 
only  follow  the  course  — the  only  course,  by  which 
her  life  can  be  saved.”  . 

“ Alas ! is  she  innocent  or  guilty  ? ” 

« She  is  guiltless  — guiltless  of  every  thing,  hut 
of  having  trusted  a villain  ! — Yet,  had  it  not  been 
for  those  that  were  worse  than  I am  — yes,  worse 
than  I am,  though  I am  bad  indeed  this  misery 

had  not  befallen.”  . 

“ And  my  sister’s  child — -does  it  live  ? said  Jeame.  ' 
a No  ; it  was  murdered  — the  new-born  infant  ^ 
was  barbarously  murdered,”  he  uttered  in  a low,  yet  j 
stern  and  sustained  voice;  — “but/  he^ added  has- 
tily, “ not  by  her  knowledge  or  consent. 

“ Then,  why  cannot  the  guilty  be  brought  to 
justice,  and  the  innocent  freed?” 

“ Torment  me  not  with  questions  which  can  serve 
no  purpose,”  he  sternly  replied  The  deed  was 
done  by  those  who  are  far  enough  from  pursuit,  and 
safe  enough  from  discovery ! — No  one  can  save 
Effie  but  yourself  ” 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN. 


225 


“ Woe's  me!  how  is  it  in  my  power  ?”  asked 
Jeanie,  in  despondency. 

“ Hearken  to  me  ! — You  have  sense  — you  can  ap- 
prehend my  meaning  — I will  trust  you.  Your  sister 

is  innocent  of  the  crime  charged  against  her” 

“ Thank  God  for  that ! ” said  Jeanie. 

“ Be  still  and  hearken  ! — The  person  who  as- 
sisted her  in  her  illness  murdered  the  child  ; but  it 
was  without  the  mother’s  knowledge  or  consent  — 
She  is  therefore  guiltless,  as  guiltless  as  the  un- 
happy  innocent,  that  but  gasped  a few  minutes  in 
this  unhappy  world  — the  better  was  its  hap  to  be 
so  soon  at  rest.  She  is  innocent  as  that  infant,  and 
yet  she  must  die  — it  is  impossible  to  clear  her  of 
the  law  ! ” 

“ Cannot  the  wretches  be  discovered,  and  given 
up  to  punishment  ? ” said  Jeanie. 

a Do  you  think  you  will  persuade  those  who  are 
hardened  in  guilt  to  die  to  save  another  ? —Is  that 
the  reed  you  would  lean  to  ? ” 

“ But  you  said  there  was  a remedy,”  again  gasped 
out  the  terrified  young  woman. 

“ There  is,”  answered  the  stranger,  “ and  it  is  in 
your  own  hands.  The  blow  which  the  law  aims 
cannot  be  broken  by  directly  encountering  it,  but  it 
may  be  turned  aside.  You  saw  your  sister  during 
the  period  preceding  the  birth  of  her  child  — what 
is  so  natural  as  that  she  should  have  mentioned  her 
condition  to  you?  The  doing  so  would,  as  their 
cant  goes,  take  the  case  from  under  the  statute,  for 
it  removes  the  quality  of  concealment.  I know 
their  jargon,  and  have  had  sad  cause  to  know  it ; 
and  the  quality  of  concealment  is  essential  to  this 
statutory  offence.1  Nothing  is  so  natural  as  that 
1 Note  X.  — Child  Murder. 


226  TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 

Effie  should  have  mentioned  her  condition  to  you 
— think  — reflect  — I am  positive  that  she  did.” 

“ Woe’s  me!”  said  Jeanie,  “ she  never  spoke  to 
me  on  the  subject,  but  grat  sorely  when  I spoke 
to  her  about  her  altered  looks,  and  the  change  on 
her  spirits.” 

“ You  asked  her  questions  on  the  subject?”  he 
said  eagerly.  “ You  must  remember  her  answer 
was,  a confession  that  she  had  been  ruined  by  a vil- 
lain — yes,  lay  a strong  emphasis  on  that  — a 
cruel  false  villain  call  it  — any  other  name  is  un- 
necessary ; and  that  she  bore  under  her  bosom  the 
consequences  of  his  guilt  and  her  folly ; and  that  he 
had  assured  her  he  would  provide  safely  for  her 
approaching  illness. — Well  he  kept  his  word!” 
These  last  words  he  spoke  as  it  were  to  himself, 
and  with  a violent  gesture  of  self-accusation,  and 
then  calmly  proceeded,  “ You  will  remember  all 
this  ? — That  is  all  that  is  necessary  to  be  said.” 

“But  I cannot  remember,”  answered  Jeanie,  with 
simplicity,  “that  which  Effie  never  told  me.” 

“ Are  you  so  dull  — so  very  dull  of  apprehension  ? ” 
he  exclaimed,  suddenly  grasping  her  arm,  and  hold- 
ing it  firm  in  his  hand.  “I  tell  you,”  (speaking 
between  his  teeth,  and  under  his  breath,  but  with 
great  energy,)  “you  must  remember  that  she  told 
you  all  this,  whether  she  ever  said  a syllable  of  it 
or  no.  You  must  repeat  this  tale,  in  which  there 
is  no  falsehood,  except  in  so  far  as  it  was  not  told 
to  you,  before  these  Justices  — Justiciary  — what- 
ever they  call  their  bloodthirsty  court,  and  save 
your  sister  from  being  murdered,  and  them  from 
becoming  murderers.  Do  not  hesitate  — I pledge 
life  and  salvation,  that  in  saying  what  I have  said 
you  will  only  speak  the  simple  truth.” 


THE  HEAET  OF  MID-LOTHIAN. 


227 


" But,"  replied  Jeanie,  whose  judgment  was  too 
accurate  not  to  see  the  sophistry  of  this  argument, 
“ I shall  be  man-sworn  in  the  very  thing  in  which 
my  testimony  is  wanted,  for  it  is  the  concealment 
for  which  poor  Effie  is  blamed,  and  you  would  make 
me  tell  a falsehood  anent  it.” 

“ I see,”  he  said,  “ my  first  suspicions  of  you  were 
right,  and  that  you  will  let  your  sister,  innocent, 
fair,  and  guiltless,  except  in  trusting  a villain,  die 
the  death  of  a murderess,  rather  than  bestow  the 
breath  of  your  mouth  and  the  sound  of  your  voice 
to  save  her.” 

“ I wad  ware  the  best  blood  in  my  body  to  keep 
her  skaithless,”  said  Jeanie,  weeping  in  bitter  agony, 
“ but  I canna  change  right  into  wrang,  or  make  that 
true  which  is  false.” 

“Foolish,  hard-hearted  girl,”  said  the  stranger, 
“ are  you  afraid  of  what  they  may  do  to  you  ? I 
tell  you,  even  the  retainers  of  the  law,  who  course 
life  as  greyhounds  do  hares,  will  rejoice  at  the  es- 
cape of  a creature  so  young  — so  beautiful ; that 
they  will  not  suspect  your  tale  ; that  if  they  did  sus- 
pect it,  they  would  consider  you  as  deserving,  not 
only  of  forgiveness,  but  of  praise  for  your  natural 
affection.” 

“It  is  not  man  I fear,”  said  Jeanie,  looking  up- 
ward ; “ the  G-od,  whose  name  I must  call  on  to 
witness  the  truth  of  what  I say,  he  will  know  the 
falsehood.” 

“ And  he  will  know  the  motive,”  said  the  stran- 
ger, eagerly ; “ he  will  know  that  you  are  doing 
this  — not  for  lucre  of  gain,  but  to  save  the  life  of 
the  innocent,  and  prevent  the  commission  of  a 
worse  crime  than  that  which  the  law  seeks  to 
avenge.” 


228 


TALES  OE  MY  LANDLORD. 


“ He  has  given  us  a law,”  said  Jeanie,  “ for  the 
lamp  of  our  path  ; if  we  stray  from  it  we  err  against 
knowledge  — I may  not  do  evil,  even  that  good  may 
come  out  of  it.  But  you  — you  that  ken  all  this  to 
be  true,  which  I must  take  on  your  word,  — you 
that,  if  I understood  what  you  said  e’en  now,  pro- 
mised her  shelter  and  protection  in  her  travail,  why 
do  not  yon  step  forward,  and  bear  leal  and  sooth- 
fast evidence  in  her  behalf,  as  ye  may  with  a clear 
conscience  ? ” 

“ To  whom  do  you  talk  of  a clear  conscience, 
woman  ? ” said  he,  with  a sudden  fierceness  which 
renewed  her  terrors,  — “ to  me  ? — I have  not  known 
one  for  many  a year.  Bear  witness  in  her  behalf  ? 
— a proper  witness,  that,  even  to  speak  these  few 
words  to  a woman  of  so  little  consequence  as  your- 
self, must  choose  such  an  hour  and  such  a place  as 
this.  When  you  see  owls  and  bats  fly  abroad,  like  ! 
larks,  in  the  sunshine,  you  may  expect  to  see  such 
as  I am  in  the  assemblies  of  men.  — Hush  — listen 
to  that.” 

A voice  was  heard  to  sing  one  of  those  wild  and  ! 
monotonous  strains  so  common  in  Scotland,  and  to  j 
which  the  natives  of  that  country  chant  their  old  | 
ballads.  The  sound  ceased  — then  came  nearer,  and 
was  renewed  ; the  stranger  listened  attentively,  still 
holding  Jeanie  by  the  arm,  (as  she  stood  by  him 
in  motionless  terror,)  as  if  to  prevent  her  inter- 
rupting the  strain  by  speaking  or  stirring.  When 
the  sounds  were  renewed,  the  words  were  distinctly 
audible ; 

“ When  the  glede’s  in  the  blue  cloud, 

The  lavrock  lies  still ; 

When  the  hound’s  in  the  green-wood, 

The  hind  keeps  the  hill.” 


THE  HEART  OE  MID-LOTHIAN. 


229 


The  person  who  sung  kept  a strained  and  powerful 
voice  at  its  highest  pitch,  so  that  it  could  be  heard 
at  a very  considerable  distance.  As  the  song  ceased, 
they  might  hear  a stifled  sound,  as  of  steps  and 
whispers  of  persons  approaching  them.  The  song 
was  again  raised,  but  the  tune  was  changed : 


u I dare  stay  no  longer/'  said  the  stranger  ; 
“ return  home,  or  remain  till  they  come  up  — you 
have  nothing  to  fear  — but  do  not  tell  you  saw  me 
— your  sister's  fate  is  in  your  hands/'  So  saying,  he 
turned  from  her,  and  with  a swift,  yet  cautiously 
noiseless  step,  plunged  into  the  darkness  on  the  side 
most  remote  from  the  sounds  which  they  heard 
approaching,  and  was  soon  lost  to  her  sight.  Jeanie 
remained  by  the  cairn  terrified  beyond  expression, 
and  uncertain  whether  she  ought  to  fly  homeward 
with  all  the  speed  she  could  exert,  or  wait  the  ap- 
proach of  those  who  were  advancing  towards  her. 
This  uncertainty  detained  her  so  long,  that  she  now 
distinctly  saw  two  or  three  figures  already  so  near 
to  her,  that  a precipitate  flight  would  have  been 
equally  fruitless  and  impolitic. 


“ 0 sleep  ye  sound,  Sir  James,  she  said, 
When  ye  suld  rise  and  ride  ? 


There’s  twenty  men,  wi’  bow  and  blade, 
Are  seeking  where  ye  hide.” 


CHAPTER  XVI. 


She  speaks  things  in  doubt, 

That  carry  but  half  sense ; her  speech  is  nothing, 

Yet  the  unshaped  use  of  it  doth  move 
The  hearers  to  collection  ; they  aim  at  it, 

And  botch  the  words  up  to  fit  their  own  thoughts. 

Hamlet. 

Like  the  digressive  poet  Ariosto,  I find  myself 
under  the  necessity  of  connecting  the  branches  of 
my  story,  by  taking  up  the  adventures  of  another 
of  the  characters,  and  bringing  them  down  to  the 
point  at  which  we  have  left  those  of  Jeanie  Deans. 
It  is  not,  perhaps,  the  most  artificial  way  of  telling 
a story,  but  it  has  the  advantage  of  sparing  the 
necessity  of  resuming  what  a knitter  (if  stocking- 
looms  have  left  such  a person  in  the  land)  might 
call  our  “ dropped  stitches a labour  in  which  the 
author  generally  toils  much,  without  getting  credit 
for  his  pains. 

“ I could  risk  a sma5  wad  ” said  the  clerk  to  the 
magistrate,  “ that  this  rascal  Ratcliffe,  if  he  were 
insured  of  his  neck’s  safety,  could  do  more  than  ony 
ten  of  our  police-people  and  constables,  to  help  us 
to  get  out  of  this  scrape  of  Porteous’s.  He  is  weel 
acquent  wi’  a’  the  smugglers,  thieves,  and  banditti 
about  Edinburgh  ; and,  indeed,  he  may  be  called 
the  father  of  a’  the  misdoers  in  Scotland,  for  he  has 
passed  amang  them  for  these  twenty  years  by  the 
name  of  Daddie  Rat” 

i 


THE  HEART  OE  MID-LOTHIAN.  231 

“ A bonny  sort  of  a scoundrel,”  replied  the  ma- 
gistrate, “to  expect  a place  under  the  city  !” 

“Begging  your  honour’s  pardon,”  said  the  city’s 
procurator-fiscal,  upon  whom  the  duties  of  super- 
intendent of  police  devolved,  “Mr.  Fairscrieve  is 
perfectly  in  the  right.  It  is  just  sic  as  Ratcliffe  that 
the  town  needs  in  my  department ; an’  if  sae  be  that 
he’s  disposed  to  turn  his  knowledge  to  the  city  ser- 
vice, ye’ll  no  find  a better  man.  — Ye’ll  get  nae  saints 
to  be  searchers  for  uncustomed  goods,  or  for  thieves 
and  sic  like ; — and  your  decent  sort  of  men,  reli- 
gious professors,  and  broken  tradesmen,  that  are 
put  into  the  like  o'  sic  trust,  can  do  nae  gude  ava. 
They  are  feared  for  this,  and  they  are  scrupulous 
about  that,  and  they  are  na  free  to  tell  a lie,  though 
it  may  be  for  the  benefit  of  the  city  ; and  they  dinna 
like  to  be  out  at  irregular  hours,  and  in  a dark 
cauld  night,  and  they  like  a clout  ower  the  croun 
far  waur ; and  sae  between  the  fear  o’  God,  and 
the  fear  o’  man,  and  the  fear  o’  getting  a sair  throat, 
or  sair  banes,  there’s  a dozen  o’  our  city-folk,  baith 
waiters,  and  officers,  and  constables,  that  can  find 
out  naething  but  a wee  bit  skulduddery  for  the 
benefit  of  the  Kirk-treasurer.  Jock  Porteous,  that’s 
stiff  and  stark,  puir  fallow,  was  worth  a dozen  o’ 
them ; for  he  never  had  ony  fears,  or  scruples,  or 
doubts,  or  conscience,  about  ony  thing  your  hon- 
ours bade  him.” 

“ He  was  a gude  servant  o’  the  town/'  said  the 
Bailie,  “though  he  was  an  ower  free-living  man. 
But  if  you  really  think  this  rascal  Ratcliffe  could  do 
us  ony  service  in  discovering  these  malefactors,  I 
would  insure  him  life,  reward,  and  promotion.  It’s 
an  awsome  thing  this  mischance  for  the  city,  Mr. 
Fairscrieve.  It  will  be  very  ill  taen  wi’  abune  stairs, 


232 


TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 


Queen  Caroline,  God  bless  her  ! is  a woman  — at 
least  I judge  sae,  and  it’s  nae  treason  to  speak  my 
mind  sae  far  — and  ye  maybe  ken  as  weel  as  I do, 
for  ye  hae  a housekeeper,  though  ye  arena  a mar- 
ried man,  that  women  are  wilfu’,  and  downa  bide 
a slight.  And  it  will  sound  ill  in  her  ears,  that  sic 
a confused  mistake  suld  come  to  pass,  and  naebody 
sae  muckle  as  to  be  put  into  the  Tolbooth  about  it.” 

“ If  ye  thought  that,  sir,”  said  the  procurator- 
fiscal,  “ we  could  easily  clap  into  the  prison  a few 
blackguards  upon  suspicion.  It  will  have  a gude 
active  look,  and  1 hae  aye  plenty  on  my  list,  that 
wadna  be  a hair  the  waur  of  a week  or  twa’s  im- 
prisonment; and  if  ye  thought  it  no  strictly  just, 
ye  could  be  just  the  easier  wi’  them  the  neist  time 
they  did  ony  thing  to  deserve  it ; they  arena  the 
sort  to  be  lang  o’  geeing  ye  an  opportunity  to  clear 
scores  wi’  them  on  that  account.” 

“ I doubt  that  will  hardly  do  in  this  case,  Mr, 
Sharpitlaw,”  returned  the  town-clerk ; “ they’ll  run 
their  letters,1  and  be  adrift  again,  before  ye  ken 
where  ye  are.” 

“ I will  speak  to  the  Lord  Provost,”  said  the 
magistrate,  “ about  Ratcliffe’s  business.  Mr.  Sharpit- 
law, you  will  go  with  me  and  receive  instructions 
— something  may  be  made  too  out  of  this  story  of 
Butler’s  and  his  unknown  gentleman  — I know  no 
business  any  man  has  to  swagger  about  in  the 
King’s  Park,  and  call  himself  the  devil,  to  the  terror 
of  honest  folks,  who  dinna  care  to  hear  mair  about 
the  devil  than  is  said  from  the  pulpit  on  the 
Sabbath.  I cannot  think  the  preacher  himsell 
wad  be  heading  the  mob,  though  the  time  has  been, 

1 A Scottish  form  of  procedure,  answering,  in  some  respects, 
to  the  English  Habeas  Corpus. 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN. 


233 


they  hae  been  as  forward  in  a bruilzie  as  their 
neighbours.” 

“ But  these  times  are  lang  by,”  said  Mr.  Sharpit- 
law.  “ In  my  father’s  time,  there  was  mair  search 
for  silenced  ministers  about  the  Bow-head  and  the 
Covenant-close,  and  all  the  tents  of  Kedar,  as  they 
ca’d  the  dwellings  o’  the  godly  in  those  days,  than 
there’s  now  for  thieves  and  vagabonds  in  the  Laigh 
Calton  and  the  back  o’  the  Canongate.  But  that 
time’s  weel  by,  an  it  bide.  And  if  the  Bailie  will 
get  me  directions  and  authority  from  the  Provost, 
I’ll  speak  wi’  Daddie  Rat  mysell ; for  I’m  thinking 
I’ll  make  mair  out  o’  him  than  ye’ll  do.” 

Mr.  Sharpitlaw,  being  necessarily  a man  of  high 
trust,  was  accordingly  empowered,  in  the  course  of 
the  day,  to  make  such  arrangements,  as  might  seem 
in  the  emergency  most  advantageous  for  the  Good 
Town.  He  went  to  the  jail  accordingly,  and  saw 
Ratcliffe  in  private. 

The  relative  positions  of  a police-officer  and  a pro- 
fessed thief  bear  a different  complexion,  according 
to  circumstances.  The  most  obvious  simile  of  a 
hawk  pouncing  upon  his  prey  is  often  .least  appli- 
cable. Sometimes  the  guardian  of  justice  has  the 
air  of  a cat  watching  a mouse,  and,  while  he  sus- 
pends his  purpose  of  springing  upon  the  pilferer, 
takes  care  so  to  calculate  his  motions  that  he  shall 
not  get  beyond  his  power.  Sometimes,  more  pas- 
sive still,  he  uses  the  art  of  fascination  ascribed  to 
the  rattle-snake,  and  contents  himself  with  glaring 
on  the  victim,  through  all  his  devious  flutterings ; 
certain  that  his  terror,  confusion,  and  disorder  of 
ideas,  will  bring  him  into  his  jaws  at  last.  The 
interview  between  Ratcliffe  and  Sharpitlaw  had  an 
aspect  different  from  all  these.  They  sate  for  five 


lANDLOKD. 


234  TALES  OE  MVJtJ 

minutes  silent,  on  .“f  thf  j°b  of  Porteous’s;  an  ye 
looked  fixedly  at  • why,  the  inner  turnkey’s  office  to 
ing,  and  alert  ca-  captainship  in  time -ye  under- 
with  an  inclinat0^  * . 

than  any  tiling0  sir’  a wmk,s  as  gude  as  a nod 
game  at  ronr  drse  5 kut  dock  Porteous’s  job  — Lord 
in  that  ' — d was  under  sentence  the  haill  time, 
other’s  d couldna  help  laughing  when  I heard 
the  aa Girling  for  mercy  in  the  lads’  hands!  Mony 

a c skin  ye  hae  gien  me,  neighbour,  thought  I,  tak 
^ c that’s  gaun : time  about’s  fair  play ; ye’ll  ken 
what  hanging’s  gude  for.” 

“ Come,  come,  this  is  all  nonsense,  Eat,”  said  the 
procurator.  “ Ye  canna  creep  out  at  that  hole,  lad ; 
you  must  speak  to  the  point,  you  understand  me, 
if  you  want  favour ; gif-gaf  makes  gude  friends,  ye 
ken.” 

“But  how  can  I speak  to  the  point,  as  your  hon- 
our ca’s  it,”  said  Ratcliffe,  demurely,  and  with  an 
air  of  great  simplicity,  “ when  ye  ken  I was  under 
sentence,  and  in  the  strong-room  a’  the  while  the 
job  was  going  on  ?” 

“ And  how  can  we  turn  ye  loose  on  the  public 
again,  Daddie  Eat,  unless  ye  do  or  say  something  to 
deserve  it  ? ” 

“Well,  then,  d — n it!”  answered  the  criminal, 
“since  it  maun  be  sae,  I saw  Geordie  Robertson 
among  the  boys  that  brake  the  jail ; I suppose  that 
will  do  me  some  gude  ? ” 

“That’s  speaking  to  the  purpose,  indeed,”  said 
the  office-bearer;  “and  now,  Rat,  where  think  ye 
we’ll  find  him  ? ” 

“ Deil  haet  o’  me  kens,”  said  Ratcliffe ; * hell  no 
likely  gang  back  to  ony  o’  his  auld  howffs ; he’ll  be 
off  the  country  by  this  time.  He  has  gude  friends 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN. 


237 


some  gate  or  other,  for  a'  the  life  he’s  led ; he’s  been 
weel  educate.” 

“ He’ll  grace  the  gallows  the  better,”  said  Mr. 
Sharpitlaw ; “ a desperate  dog,  to  murder  an  officer 
of  the  city  for  doing  his  duty ! Wha  kens  wha’s 
turn  it  might  be  next  ? — But  you  saw  him  plainly  ? ” 

“ As  plainly  as  I see  you.” 

“ How  was  he  dressed  ? ” said  Sharpitlaw. 

“I  couldna  weel  see;  something  of  a woman’s  bit 
mutch  on  his  head ; but  ye  never  saw  sic  a ca’ throw. 
Ane  couldna  hae  een  to  a’  thing  ” 

“ But  did  he  speak  to  no  one  ? ” said  Sharpitlaw. 

“They  were  a’  speaking  and  gabbling  through 
other,”  said  Ratcliffe,  who  was  obviously  unwilling 
to  carry  his  evidence  farther  than  he  could  possibly 
help. 

“ This  will  not  do,  Ratcliffe,”  said  the  procura- 
tor ; “ you  must  speak  out  — out  — out”  tapping  the 
table  emphatically,  as  he  repeated  that  impressive 
monosyllable. 

“It’s  very  hard,  sir,”  said  the  prisoner;  “and  but 
for  the  under-turnkey’s  place  ” 

“ And  the  reversion  of  the  captaincy  — the  cap- 
taincy of  the  Tolbooth,  man  — that  is,  in  case  of 
gude  behaviour.” 

“Ay,  ay,”  said  Ratcliffe,  “gude  behaviour!  — 
there’s  the  deevil.  And  then  it’s  waiting  for  dead 
folk’s  shoon  into  the  bargain.” 

“But  Robertson’s  head  will  weigh  something,” 
said  Sharpitlaw;  “something  gay  and  heavy,  Rat; 
the  town  maun  show  cause  — that’s  right  and  rea- 
son — and  then  ye’ll  hae  freedom  to  enjoy  your  gear 
honestly.” 

“ I dinna  ken,”  said  Ratcliffe ; “ it’s  a queer  way 
of  beginning  the  trade  of  honesty  — but  deil  ma 


238 


TALES  OE  MY  LANDLORD. 


care.  Weel,  then,  I heard  and  saw  him  speak  to 
the  wench  Effie  Deans,  that's  up  there  for  child 
murder.  ” 

“ The  deil  ye  did  ? Eat,  this  is  finding  a mare’s 
nest  wi’  a witness.  — And  the  man  that  spoke  to 
Butler  in  the  Park,  and  that  was  to  meet  wi’  Jeanie 
Deans  at  Muschat’s  Cairn  — r-  whew ! lay  that  and 
that  thegither ! As  sure  as  I live  he’s  been  the  fa- 
ther of  the  lassie’s  wean.” 

“ There  hae  been  waur  guesses  than  that,  I’m 
thinking,”  observed  Katcliffe,  turning  his  quid  of 
tobacco  in  his  cheek,  and  squirting  out  the  juice. 
“ I heard  something  a while  syne  about  his  draw- 
ing up  wi’  a bonny  quean  about  the  Pleasaunts,  and 
that  it  was  a?  Wilson  could  do  to  keep  him  frae 
marrying  her.” 

Here  a city  officer  entered,  and  told  Sharpitlaw 
that  they  had  the  woman  in  custody  whom  he  had 
directed  them  to  bring  before  him. 

“ It’s  little  matter  now,”  said  he,  “the  thing  is 
taking  another  turn ; however,  George,  ye  may 
bring  her  in.” 

The  officer  retired,  and  introduced,  upon  his  re- 
turn, a tall,  strapping  wench  of  eighteen  or  twenty, ; 
dressed  fantastically,  in  a sort  of  blue  riding-jacket, 
with  tarnished  lace,  her  hair  clubbed  like  that  of  a 
man,  a Highland  bonnet,  and  a bunch  of  broken 
feathers,  a riding-skirt  (or  petticoat)  of  scarlet  cam- 
let, embroidered  with  tarnished  flowers.  Her  fea- 
tures were  coarse  and  masculine,  yet  at  a little 
distance,  by  dint  of  very  bright  wild-looking  black 
eyes,  an  aquiline  nose,  and  a commanding  profile, 
appeared  rather  handsome.  She  flourished  the 
switch  she  held  in  her  hand,  dropped  a curtsy  as 
low  as  a lady  at  a birth-night  introduction,  recovered 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAK 


nerself  seemingly  according  to  Touchstone’s  direc- 
tions to  Audrey,  and  opened  the  conversation  with- 
out waiting  till  any  questions  were  asked. 

“ God  gie  your  honour  gude  e’en,  and  mony  o’ 
them,  bonny  Mr.  Sharpitlaw  ! — Gude  e’en  to  ye, 
Daddie  Ratton  — they  tauld  me  ye  were  hanged, 
man ; or  did  ye  get  out  o’  John  Dalgleish’s  hands 
like  half-hangit  Maggie  Dickson  ? ” 

“ Whisht,  ye  daft  jaud,”  said  Ratcliffe,  “ and  hear 
what’s  said  to  ye.” 

“ Wi’  a ’ my  heart,  Ratton.  Great  preferment  for 
poor  Madge  to  be  brought  up  the  street  wi’  a grand 
man,  wi’  a coat  a’  passemented  wi’  worset-lace,  to 
speak  wi’  provosts,  and  bailies,  and  town-clerks,  and 
prokitors,  at  this  time  o’  day  — and  the  haill  town 
looking  at  me  too  — This  is  honour  on  earth  for 
anes  ! ” 

“ Ay,  Madge,”  said  Mr.  Sharpitlaw,  in  a coaxing 
tone ; “ and  ye’re  dressed  out  in  your  braws,  I see ; 
these  are  not  your  every-days’  claiths  ye  have  on.” 

“ Deil  be  in  my  fingers,  then ! ” said  Madge  — 
“ Eh,  sirs  ! ” (observing  Butler  come  into  the  apart- 
ment,) “ there’s  a minister  in  the  Tolbooth  — wha 
will  ca’  it  a graceless  place  now  ? — I’se  warrant  he’s 
in  for  the  gude  auld  cause  — but  it’s  be  nae  cause  o’ 
mine,”  and  off  she  went  into  a song. 

a Hey  for  cavaliers,  ho  for  cavaliers. 

Dub  a dub,  dub  a dub  ; 

Have  at  old  Beelzebub,  — 

Oliver’s  squeaking  for  fear.” 

“ Did  you  ever  see  that  mad  woman  before  ? ” said 
Sharpitlaw  to  Butler. 

“Not  to  my  knowledge,  sir,”  replied  Butler. 

“ I thought  as  much,”  said  the  procurator-fiscal. 


240 


TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 


looking  towards  Ratcliffe,  who  answered  his  glance 
with  a nod  of  acquiescence  and  intelligence. 

“But  that  is  Madge  Wildfire,  as  she  calls  her- 
self,said  the  man  of  law  to  Butler. 

“Ay,  that  I am,”  said  Madge,  “and  that  I have 
been  ever  since  I was  something  better  — Heigh 
ho  ” — (and  something  like  melancholy  dwelt  on  her 
features  for  a minute)  — “But  I canna  mind  when 
that  was  — it  vms  lang  syne,  at  ony  rate,  and  IT1 
ne’er  fash  my  thumb  about  it.  — 

“ I glance  like  the  wildfire  through  country  and  town  ; 

I’m  seen  on  the  causeway  — I’m  seen  on  the  down  ; 

The  lightning  that  flashes  so  bright  and  so  free, 

Is  scarcely  so  blithe  or  so  bonny  as  me.” 

“ Haud  your  tongue,  ye  skirling  limmer ! ” said 
the  officer,  who  had  acted  as  master  of  the  cere- 
monies to  this  extraordinary  performer,  and  who 
was  rather  scandalized  at  the  freedom  of  her  de- 
meanour before  a person  of  Mr.  Sharpitlaw’s  impor- 
tance — “ haud  your  tongue,  or  I’se  gie  ye  something 
to  skirl  for  l ” 

“ Let  her  alone,  George,”  said  Sharpitlaw,  “ dinna 
put  her  out  o’  tune  ; I hae  some  questions  to  ask  her  ' 

— But  first,  Mr.  Butler,  take  another  look  of  her.” 

“ Do  sae,  minister  — do  sae,”  cried  Madge ; “ I am 
as  weel  worth  looking  at  as  ony  book  in  your  aught 

And  I can  say  the  single  carritch,  and  the  double 
carritch,  and  justification,  and  effectual  calling,  and 
the  assembly  of  divines  at  Westminster,  that  is,” 
(she  added  in  a low  tone,)  “I  could  say  them  anes 

— but  it’s  lang  syne  — and  ane  forgets,  ye  ken.” 
And  poor  Madge  heaved  another  deep  sigh. 

“ Weel,  sir,”  said  Mr.  Sharpitlaw  to  Butler  “what 
think  ye  now  ? ” 


THE  HEART  OE  MID-LOTHIAN. 


241 


" As  I did  before/'  said  Butler  ; “ that  I never  saw 
the  poor  demented  creature  in  my  life  before." 

“ Then  she  is  not  the  person  whom  you  said  the 
rioters  last  night  described  as  Madge  Wildfire  ?” 

“ Certainly  not,”  said  Butler.  “ They  may  be  near 
the  same  height,  for  they  are  both  tall,  but  I see 
little  other  resemblance.” 

“ Their  dress,  then,  is  not  alike  ? ” said  Sharpitlaw. 
“ Not  in  the  least,”  said  Butler. 

“ Madge,  my  bonny  woman,"  said  Sharpitlaw,  in 
the  same  coaxing  manner,  “ what  did  ye  do  wi’  your 
ilka-day’s  claise  yesterday  ? ” 

“ I dinna  mind,"  said  Madge. 

“ Where  was  ye  yesterday  at  e’en,  Madge  ? " 

“I  dinna  mind  ony  thing  about  yesterday,”  an- 
swered Madge ; “ ae  day  is  eneugh  for  ony  body  to 
wun  ower  wi’  at  a time,  and  ower  muckle  some- 
times.’" 

“But  maybe,  Madge,  ye  wad  mind  something 
about  it,  if  I was  to  gie  ye  this  half-crown  ? ” said 
Sharpitlaw,  taking  out  the  piece  of  money. 

“ That  might  gar  me  laugh,  but  it  couldna  gar  me 
mind.” 

“ But,  Madge,”  continued  Sharpitlaw,  “ were  I to 
send  you  to  the  wark -house  in  Leith  Wynd,  and  gar 
Jock  Dalgleish  lay  the  tawse  on  your  back  ” — 
“That  wad  gar  me  greet,”  said  Madge,  sobbing, 
“ but  it  couldna  gar  me  mind,  ye  ken.” 

“ She  is  ower  far  past  reasonable  folk’s  motives, 
sir,”  said  Ratcliffe,  “ to  mind  siller,  or  John  Dal- 
gleish, or  the  cat  and  nine  tails  either  ; but  I think 
I could  gar  her  tell  us  something.” 

“Try  her  then,  Ratcliffe,”  said  Sharpitlaw,  “ for 
I am  tired  of  her  crazy  pate,  and  be  d — d to  her.” 

“ Madge,”  said  Ratcliffe,  “ hae  ye  ony  joes  now  ?” 


242  TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 

“An  ony  body  ask  ye,  say  ye  dinna  ken.  — Set 
him  to  be  speaking  of  my  joes,  auld  Daddie  Rat- 
ton!” 

“ I dare  say,  ye  hae  deil  ane  ? 

“ See  if  I haena  then,”  said  Madge,  with  the  toss 
of  the  head  of  affronted  beauty  — “ there’s  Rob  the 
Ranter,  and  Will  Fleming,  and  then  there’s  Geor- 
die  Robertson,  lad  — that’s  Gentleman  Geordie- 
what  think  ye  o’  that  ? ” 

Ratcliffe  laughed,  and,  winking  to  the  procura- 
tor-fiscal, pursued  the  enquiry  in  his  own  way. 
“But,  Madge,  the  lads  only  like  ye  when  ye  hae 
on  your  braws  — they  wadna  touch  you  wi’  a pair 
o’  tangs  when  you  are  in  your  auld  ilka-day  rags. 

« Ye’re  a leeing  auld  sorrow  then,”  replied  the 
fair  one ; “ for  Gentle  Geordie  Robertson  put  my 
ilka-day’s  claise  on  his  ain  bonny  sell  yestreen,  and 
gaed  a’  through  the  town  wi’  them;  and  gawsie 
and  grand  he  lookit,  like  ony  queen  m the  land. 

“ I dinna  believe  a word  o’t,”  said  Ratcliffe,  with 
another  wink  to  the  procurator.  _ “ Thae  duds  were 
a’  o’  the  colour  o’  moonshine  in  the  watqr,  lm 
thinking,  Madge  — The  gown  wad  be  a sky-blue 

scarlet,  I’se  warrant  ye  ? ” 

“It  was  nae  sic  thing,”  said  Madge,  whose  un- 
retentive  memory  let  out,  in  the  eagerness  of  con- 
tradiction, all  that  she  would  have  most  wished  to 
keep  concealed,  had  her  judgment  been  equal  to 
her  inclination.  “ It  was  neither  scarlet  nor  sky- 
blue,  but  my  ain  auld  brown  threshie-coat  of  a shoit 
gown,  and  my  mother’s  auld  mutch,  and  my  red 
rokelay  — and  he  gaed  me  a croun  and  a kiss  for  the 
use  o’  them,  blessing  on  his  bonny  face  — though 

it’s  been  a dear  ane  to  me.” 

“And  where  did  he  change  his  clothes  again, 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN.  243 

hinnie  ? ” said  Sharpitlaw,  in  his  most  conciliatory 
manner. 

“The  procurator’s  spoiled  a’,”  observed  Rat- 
cliffe,  dryly. 

And  it  was  even  so ; for  the  question,  put  in  so 
direct  a shape,  immediately  awakened  Madge  to 
the  propriety  of  being  reserved  upon  those  very 
topics  on  which  Ratcliffe  had  indirectly  seduced  her 
to  become  communicative. 

“ What  was’t  ye  were  speering  at  us,  sir  ? ” she 
resumed,  with  an  appearance  of  stolidity  so  speed- 
ily assumed,  as  showed  there  was  a good  deal  of 
knavery  mixed  with  her  folly. 

“ I asked  you,”  said  the  procurator,  “ at  what 
houi,  and  to  what  place,  Robertson  brought  back 
your  clothes.” 

“ Robertson  ? — Lord  haud  a care  0’  us ! what 
Robertson  ? ” 

“ Why,  the  fellow  we  were  speaking  of,  Gentle 
Geordie,  as  you  call  him.” 

“Geordie  Gentle!”  answered  Madge,  with  well- 
feigned  amazement  — “I  dinna  ken  naebody  thev 
ca’  Geordie  Gentle.” 

“Come,  my  jo,”  said  Sharpitlaw,  “this  will  not 
do ; you  must  tell  us  what  you  did  with  these  clothes 
of  yours.” 

Madge  Wildfire  made  no  answer,  unless  the 
question  may  seem  connected  with  the  snatch  of  a 
song  with  which  she  indulged  the  embarrassed 
.nvestigator : — 

What  did  ye  wi’  the  bridal  ring  — bridal  ring  — bridal 

ring  ? 0 

;Vhat  did  ye  wi’  your  wedding  ring,  ye  little  cutty  quean,  0 ? 

• gied  it  till  a sodger,  a sodger,  a sodger, 
gied  it  till  a sodger,  an  auld  true  love  o*  mine,  0.” 


244 


TALES  OE  MY  LANDLORD. 


Of  all  the  madwomen  who  have  sung  and  said> 
since  the  days  of  Hamlet  the  Dane,  if  Ophelia  be 
the  most  affecting,  Madge  Wildfire  was  the  most 

provoking.  . . , 

The  procurator-fiscal  was  in  despair.  1 11  ta  e 
some  measures  with  this  d — d Bess  of  Bedlam, 
said  he,  “ that  shall  make  her  find  her  tongue/ 

<<  wp  your  favour,  sir,”  said  Ratcliffe,  ‘ better 
let  her  mind  settle  a little  — Ye  have  aye  made  out 
something.” 

« True,”  said  the  official  person ; " a brown  short- 
gown,  mutch,  red  rokelay  — that  agrees  with  your 
Madge  Wildfire,  Mr.  Butler  ? ” Butler  agreed  that 
it  did  so.  “ Yes,  there  was  a sufficient  motive  for 
taking  this  crazy  creature’s  dress  and  name,  while 

he  was  about  such  a job.”  . 

“ And  I am  free  to  say  now,”  said  Ratcliffe  ^ 

« When  you  see  it  has  come  out  without  you, 
interrupted  Sharpitlaw. 

« Just  sae,  sir,”  reiterated  Ratcliffe.  “ I am  free 
to  say  now,  since  it’s  come  out  otherwise,  that  these 
were  the  clothes  1 saw  Robertson  wearing  last  night 
in  the  jail,  when  he  was  at  the  head  of  the  rioters. 

« That’s  direct  evidence,”  said  Sharpitlaw  ; stick 
to  that,  Rat -I  will  report  favourably  of  you  to 
the  provost,  for  I have  business  for  you  to-night  It 
wears  late;  I must  home  and  get  a snack,  and  I 
be  back  in  the  evening.  Keep  Madge  with  y , 
Ratcliffe,  and  try  to  get  her  into  a good  tune  agai  . 
So  saying,  he  left  the  prison. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 


And  some  they  whistled  — and  some  they  sang, 

And  some  did  loudly  say, 

Whenever  Lord  Barnard’s  horn  it  blew, 

“ Away,  Musgrave,  away ! ” 

Ballad  of  Little  Musgrave. 

When  the  man  of  office  returned  to  the  Heart  of 
Mid-Lothian,  he  resumed  his  conference  with  Rat- 
cliffe, of  whose  experience  and  assistance  he  now 
held  himself  secure.  “You  must  speak  with  this 
wench,  Rat  — this  Effie  Deans  — you  must  sift  her 
a wee  bit;  for  as  sure  as  a tether  she  will  ken 
Robertson's  haunts  — till  her,  Rat  — till  her,  without 
delay.” 

“ Craving  your  pardon,  Mr.  Sharpitlaw,”  said  the 
turnkey  elect,  “ that's  what  I am  not  free  to  do.” 

“ Free  to  do,  man  ? what  the  deil  ails  ye  now  ? — 
I thought  we  had  settled  a'  that.” 

“ I dinna  ken,  sir,”  said  Ratcliffe ; “ I hae  spoken 
to  this  Effie  — she's  strange  to  this  place  and  to  its 
ways,  and  to  a'  our  ways,  Mr.  Sharpitlaw ; and  she 
greets,  the  silly  tawpie,  and  she's  breaking  her  heart 
already  about  this  wild  chield ; and  were  she  the 
means  o’  taking  him,  she  wad  break  it  outright.” 

“ She  wunna  hae  time,  lad,”  said  Sharpitlaw ; 
“ the  woodie  will  hae  its  ain  o’  her  before  that  — a 
woman’s  heart  takes  a lang  time  o'  breaking.” 

“ That’s  according  to  the  stuff  they  are  made  o', 
sir,”  replied  Ratcliffe.  “ But  to  make  a lang  tale 


246 


TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 


short,  I canna  undertake  the  job.  It  gangs  against 
my  conscience.” 

“Your  conscience,  Rat?”  said  Sharpitlaw,  with  a 
sneer,  which  the  reader  will  probably  think  very 
natural  upon  the  occasion. 

“ Ou  ay,  sir,”  answered  Ratcliffe,  calmly,  “ just  my 
conscience ; a'body  has  a conscience,  though  it  may 
be  ill  wunnin  at  it.  I think  mine's  as  weel  out  0’ 
the  gate  as  maist  folk's  are ; and  yet  it's  just  like 
the  noop  of  my  elbow,  it  whiles  gets  a bit  dirl  on  a 
corner.” 

“Weel,  Rat,”  replied  Sharpitlaw,  “since  ye  are 
nice,  I'll  speak  to  the  hussy  mysell.” 

Sharpitlaw,  accordingly,  caused  himself  to  be  in- 
troduced into  the  little  dark  apartment  tenanted  by 
the  unfortunate  Effie  Deans.  The  poor  girl  was  ! 
seated  on  her  little  flock-bed,  plunged  in  a deep 
reverie.  Some  food  stood  on  the  table,  of  a quality  ’ 
better  than  is  usually  supplied  to  prisoners,  but  it 
was  untouched.  The  person  under  whose  care  she 
was  more  particularly  placed  said,  “ that  sometimes 
she  tasted  naething  from  the  tae  end  of  the  four- 
and-twenty  hours  to  the  t’other,  except  a drink  of  * 
water.” 

Sharpitlaw  took  a chair,  and,  commanding  the ; 
turnkey  to  retire,  he  opened  the  conversation,  en- 
deavouring to  throw  into  his  tone  and  countenance  f 
as  much  commiseration  as  they  were  capable  of 
expressing,  for  the  one  was  sharp  and  harsh,  the 
other  sly,  acute,  and  selfish. 

“ How's  a'  wi’  ye,  Effie  ? — How  d'ye  find  yoursell, 
hinny  ? ” 

A deep  sigh  was  the  only  answer. 

“ Are  the  folk  civil  to  ye,  Effie  ? — it's  my  duty  to 
enquire,” 


THE  HEART  OE  MIDLOTHIAN. 


“ Very  civil,  sir,”  said  Effie,  compelling  herself  to 
answer,  yet  hardly  knowing  what  she  said. 

“And  your  victuals,”  continued  Sharpitlaw,  in 
the  same  condoling  tone  — “do  you  get  what  you 
like  ? — or  is  there  ony  thing  you  would  particularly 
fancy,  as  your  health  seems  but  silly  ? ” 

“ It’s  a’  very  weel,  sir,  I thank  ye,”  said  the  poor 
prisoner,  in  a tone  how  different  from  the  sportive 
vivacity  of  those  of  the  Lily  of  St.  Leonard’s ! — 
“it’s  a’  very  gude  — ower  gude  for  me.” 

“He  must  have  been  a great  villain,  Effie,  who 
brought  you  to  this  pass,”  said  Sharpitlaw. 

The  remark  was  dictated  partly  by  a natural 
feeling,  of  which  even  he  could  not  divest  himself, 
though  accustomed  to  practise  on  the  passions  of 
others,  and  keep  a most  heedful  guard  over  his 
own,  and  partly  by  his  wish  to  introduce  the  sort 
of  conversation  which  might  best  serve  his  imme- 
diate purpose.  Indeed,  upon  the  present  occasion 
these  mixed  motives  of  feeling  and  cunning  harmo- 
nized together  wonderfully ; for,  said  Sharpitlaw  to 
himself,  the  greater  rogue  Robertson  is,  the  more 
will  be  the  merit  of  bringing  him  to  justice.  “ He 
must  have  been  a great  villain,  indeed,”  he  again 
reiterated ; “ and  I wish  I had  the  skelping  o’  him.” 

“ I may  blame  mysell  mair  than  him,”  said  Effie ; 
“ I was  bred  up  to  ken  better ; but  he,  poor  fellow,” 
(she  stopped.) 

“Was  a thorough  blackguard  a’  his  life,  I dare 
say,”  said  Sharpitlaw.  “ A stranger  he  was  in  this 
country,  and  a companion  of  that  lawless  vagabond, 
Wilson,  I think,  Effie?” 

“ It  wad  hae  been  dearly  telling  him  that  he  had 
ne’er  seen  Wilson’s  face.” 

“ That’s  very  true  that  you  are  saying,  Effie,”  said 


248 


TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 


Sharpitlaw.  “ Where  was’t  that  Robertson  and  yon 
were  used  to  howff  thegither  ? Somegate  about  the 
Laigh  Calton,  I am  thinking.” 

The  simple  and  dispirited  girl  had  thus  far  fol- 
lowed Mr.  Sharpitlaw’s  lead,  because  he  had  artfully 
adjusted  his  observations  to  the  thoughts  he  was 
pretty  certain  must  be  passing  through  her  own 
mind,  so  that  her  answers  became  a kind  of  think- 
ing aloud,  a mood  into  which  those  who  are  either 
constitutionally  absent  in  mind,  or  are  rendered  so 
by  the  temporary  pressure  of  misfortune,  may  be 
easily  led  by  a skilful  train  of  suggestions.  But 
the  last  observation  of  the  procurator-fiscal  was  too 
much  of  the  nature  of  a direct  interrogatory,  and  it 
broke  the  charm  accordingly. 

“What  was  it  that  I was  saying?”  said  Effie, 
starting  up  from  her  reclining  posture,  seating  her- 
self upright,  and  hastily  shading  her  dishevelled  ' 
hair  back  from  her  wasted,  but  still  beautiful  coun- 
tenance. She  fixed  her  eyes  boldly  and  keenly 
upon  Sharpitlaw  ; — - “ You  are  too  much  of  a gen- 
tleman, sir,  — too  much  of  an  honest  man,  to  take 
any  notice  of  what  a poor  creature  like  me  says,  that  j 
can  hardly  ca’  my  senses  my  ain  — God  help  me  ! ” , 

“ Advantage  ! — I would  be  of  some  advantage 
to  you  if  I could,”  said  Sharpitlaw,  in  a soothing 
tone ; “ and  I ken  naething  sae  likely  to  serve  ye, 
Effie,  as  gripping  this  rascal,  Robertson.” 

“ 0 dinna  misca’  him,  sir,  that  never  misca’d 
you ! — - Robertson  ? — I am  sure  I had  naething  to 
say  against  ony  man  o’  the  name,  and  naething  will 
I say.” 

“ But  if  you  do  not  heed  your  own  misfortune, 
Effie,  you  should  mind  what  distress  he  has  brought 
on  your  family,”  said  the  man  of  law. 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN.  249 

“0,  Heaven  help  me!”  exclaimed  poor  Effie  — 
“ My  poor  father  — my  dear  Jeanie  — 0,  that’s  sair- 
est  to  bide  of  a’ ! 0,  sir,  if  you  hae  ony  kindness  — 
if  ye  hae  ony  touch  of  compassion  — for  a’  the  folk 
I see  here  are  as  hard  as  the  wa’-stanes  — If  ye  wad 
but  bid  them  let  my  sister  Jeanie  in  the  next  time 
she  ca’s ) for  when  I hear  them  put  her  awa  frae 
the  door,  and  canna  climb  up  to  that  high  window 
to  see  sae  muckle  as  her  gown-tail,  it’s  like  to  pit 
me  out  0’  my  judgment.”  And  she  looked  on  him 
with  a face  of  entreaty  so  earnest,  yet  so  humble, 
that  she  fairly  shook  the  steadfast  purpose  of  his 
mind. 

“ You  shall  see  your  sister,”  he  began,  “ if  you’ll 
tell  me,”  — then  interrupting  himself,  he  added,  in 
a more  hurried  tone,  — “ no,  d — n it,  you  shall  see 
your  sister  whether  you  tell  me  any  thing  or  no.” 
So  saying,  he  rose  up  and  left  the  apartment. 

When  he  had  rejoined  Ratcliffe,  he  observed, 
“ You  are  right,  Ratton ; there’s  no  making  much 
of  that  lassie.  But  ae  thing  I have  cleared  — that 
is,  that  Robertson  has  been  the  father  of  the  bairn, 
and  so  I will  wager  a boddle  it  will  be  he  that’s 
to  meet  wi’  Jeanie  Deans  this  night  at  Muschat’s 
Cairn,  and  there  we’ll  nail  him,  Rat,  or  my  name 
is  not  Gideon  Sharpitlaw.” 

“ But,”  said  Ratcliffe,  perhaps  because  he  was  in 
no  hurry  to  see  any  thing  which  was  like  to  be 
connected  with  the  discovery  and  apprehension  of 
Robertson,  “ an  that  were  the  case,  Mr.  Butler  wad 
hae  kend  the  man  in  the  King’s  Park  to  be  the 
same  person  wi’  him  in  Madge  Wildfire’s  claise,  that 
headed  the  mob.” 

“That  makes  nae  difference,  man,”  replied 
Sharpitlaw  — “the  dress,  the  light,  the  confusion, 


TALES  OE  MY  LANDLORD. 


250 

and  maybe  a touch  o’  a blackit  cork,  or  a slake  o' 
paint — liout,  Ratton,  I have  seen  ye  dress  your 
ainsell,  that  the  deevil  ye  belang  to  durstna  hae 
made  oath  t’ye .” 

“ And  that's  true,  too,”  said  Ratcliffe. 

“ And  besides,  ye  donnard  carle,”  continued 
Sharpitlaw,  triumphantly,  “the  minister  did  say, 
that  he  thought  he  knew  something  of  the  features 
of  the  birkie  that  spoke  to  him  in  the  Park,  though 
he  could  not  charge  his  memory  where  or  when  he 
had  seen  them.” 

“ It’s  evident,  then,  your  honour  will  be  right,” 
said  Ratcliffe. 

“Then,  Rat,  you  and  I will  go  with  the  party 
oursells  this  night,  and  see  him  in  grips,  or  we  are 
done  wi’  him.” 

“ I seena  muckle  use  I can  be  o’  to  your  honour,” 
said  Ratcliffe,  reluctantly. 

“ Use  ? ” answered  Sharpitlaw  — “ You  can  guide 
the  party  — you  ken  the  ground.  Besides,  I do 
not  intend  to  quit  sight  o’  you,  my  good  friend, 
till  I have  him  in  hand.” 

“ Weel,  sir,”  said  Ratcliffe,  but  in  no  joyful  tone 
of  acquiescence ; “ Ye  maun  hae  it  your  ain  way ; 
— but  mind  he’s  a desperate  man.”  j 

“We  shall  have  that  with  us,”  answered  Sharp- 
itlaw, “ that  will  settle  him,  if  it  is  necessary.” 

“But,  sir,”  answered  Ratcliffe,  “I  am  sure  I I 
eouldna  undertake  to  guide  you  to  Muschat’s  Cairn 
in  the  night-time  ; I ken  the  place,  as  mony  does, 
in  fair  daylight,  but  how  to  find  it  by  moonshine, 
amang  sae  mony  crags  and  stanes,  as  like  to  each 
other  as  the  collier  to  the  deil,  is  mair  than  I can 
tell.  I might  as  soon  seek  moonshine  in#water” 

. “ What’s  the  meaning  o’  this,  Ratcliffe  ? ” said 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTITIAN. 


251 


Sharpitlaw,  while  he  fixed  his  eye  on  the  recusant, 
with  a fatal  and  ominous  expression,  — “ Have  you 
forgotten  that  you  are  still  under  sentence  of 
death  ? ” 

“ No,  sir/'  said  Ratcliffe,  “ that’s  a thing  no  easily 
put  out  o’  memory ; and  if  my  presence  be  judged 
necessary,  nae  doubt  I maun  gang  wi’  your  honour. 
But  I was  gaun  to  tell  your  honour  of  ane  that  has 
mair  skeel  o’  the  gate  than  me,  and  that’s  e’en 
Madge  Wildfire.” 

“ The  devil  she  has ! — Do  you  think  me  as 
mad  as  she  is,  to  trust  to  her  guidance  on  such  an 
occasion  ? ” 

“ Your  honour  is  the  best  judge,”  answered  Rat- 
cliffe ; “ but  I ken  I can  keep  her  in  tune,  and  garr 
her  haud  the  straight  path  — she  aften  sleeps  out, 
or  rambles  about  amang  thae  hills  the  haill  simmer 
night,  the  daft  limmer.” 

“Well,  Ratcliffe,”  replied  the  procurator-fiscal, 
“ if  you  think  she  can  guide  us  the  right  way  — but 
take  heed  to  what  you  are  about  — your  life  depends 
on  your  behaviour.” 

“ It’s  a sair  judgment  on  a man,”  said  Ratcliffe, 
“when  he  has  ance  gane  sae  far  wrang  as  I hae 
done,  that  deil  a bit  he  can  be  honest,  try’t  whilk 
way  he  will.” 

Such  was  the  reflection  of  Ratcliffe,  when  he  was 
left  for  a few  minutes  to  himself,  while  the  retainer 
of  justice  went  to  procure  a proper  warrant,  and 
give  the  necessary  directions. 

The  rising  moon  saw  the  whole  party  free  from 
the  walls  of  the  city,  and  entering  upon  the  open 
ground.  Arthur’s  Seat,  like  a couchant  lion  of  im- 
mense size  — Salisbury  Crags,  like  a huge  belt  or 
girdle  of  granite,  were  dimly  visible.  Holding  their. 


252 


TALES  OE  MY  LANDLORD. 


path  along  the  southern  side  of  the  Canongate,  they 
gained  the  Abbey  of  Holyroodhouse,  and  from 
thence  found  their  way  by  step  and  stile  into  the 
King’s  Park.  They  were  at  first  four  in  number 
— an  officer  of  justice  and  Sharpitlaw,  who  were 
well  armed  with  pistols  and  cutlasses  ; Eatcliffe,  who 
was  not  trusted  with  weapons,  lest  he  might,  per- 
adventure,  have  used  them  on  the  wrong  side ; and 
the  female.  But  at  the  last  stile,  when  they  entered 
the  Chase,  they  were  joined  by  other  two  officers, 
whom  Sharpitlaw,  desirous  to  secure  sufficient  force 
for  his  purpose,  and  at  the  same  time  to  avoid  ob- 
servation, had  directed  to  wait  for  him  at  this  place. 
Eatcliffe  saw  this  accession  of  strength  with  some 
disquietude,  for  he  had  hitherto  thought  it  likely 
that  Eobertson,  who  was  a bold,  stout,  and  active 
young  fellow,  might  have  made  his  escape  from 
Sharpitlaw  and  the  single  officer,  by  force  or  agility,  ? 
without  his  being  implicated  in  the  matter.  But 
the  present  strength  of  the  followers  of  justice  was 
overpowering,  and  the  only  mode  of  saving  Eobert- 
son, (which  the  old  sinner  was  well  disposed  to  do, 
providing  always  he  could  accomplish  his  purpose  i 
without  compromising  his  own  safety,)  must  be  by  l 
contriving  that  he  should  have  some  signal  of  their 
approach.  It  was  probably  with  this  view  that 
Eatcliffe  had  requested  the  addition  of  Madge  to 
the  party,  having  considerable  confidence  in  her 
propensity  to  exert  her  lungs.  Indeed,  she  had 
already  given  them  so  many  specimens  of  her  cla- 
morous loquacity,  that  Sharpitlaw  half  determined 
to  send  her  back  with  one  of  the  officers,  rather 
than  carry  forward  in  his  company  a person  so 
extremely  ill  qualified  to  be  a guide  in  a secret  ex- 
pedition. It  seemed,  too,  as  if  the  open  air,  the  ap- 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTIIIAN. 


253 


proach  to  the  hills,  and  the  ascent  of  the  moon,  sup- 
posed to  be  so  portentous  over  those  whose  brain  is 
infirm,  made  her  spirits  rise  in  a degree  tenfold 
more  loquacious  than  she  had  hitherto  exhibited. 
To  silence  her  by  fair  means  seemed  impossible ; 
authoritative  commands  and  coaxing  entreaties  she 
set  alike  at  defiance,  and  threats  only  made  her 
sulky,  and  altogether  intractable. 

“ Is  there  no  one  of  you,”  said  Sharpitlaw,  impa- 
tiently, “ that  knows  the  way  to  this  accursed  place 
— this  Nicol  Muschat’ s Cairn  — excepting  this  mad 
clavering  idiot  ? ” 

“ Deil  ane  o’  them  kens  it,  except  mysell,”  ex- 
claimed Madge ; “ how  suld  they,  the  poor  fule 
cowards  ? But  I hae  sat  on  the  grave  frae  bat-flee- 
ing time  till  cock-crow,  and  had  mony  a fine  crack 
wi’  Nicol  Muschat  and  Ailie  Muschat,  that  are 
lying  sleeping  below.” 

“ The  devil  take  your  crazy  brain,”  said  Sharpit- 
law; “ will  you  not  allow  the  men  to  aiaswer  a 
question  ? ” 

The  officers  obtaining  a moment’s  audience  while 
Ratcliffe  diverted  Madge’s  attention,  declared  that, 
though  they  .had  a general  knowledge  of  the  spot, 
they  could  not  undertake  to  guide  the  party  to  it  by 
the  uncertain  light  of  the  moon,  with  such  accuracy 
as  to  ensure  success  to  their  expedition. 

“ What  shall  we  do,  Ratcliffe  ?”  said  Sharpitlaw  ; 
“ if  he  sees  us  before  we  see  him,  — and  that’s  what 
he  is  certain  to  do,  if  we  go  strolling  about,  without 
keeping  the  straight  road,  — we  may  bid  gude  day 
to  the  job ; and  I wad  rather  lose  one  hundred 
pounds,  baith  for  the  credit  of  the  police,  and  be- 
cause the  Provost  says  somebody  maun  be  hanged 
for  this  job  0’  Porteous,  come  o’t  what  likes.” 


254 


TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 


“ I think,”  said  Ratcliffe,  “ we  maun  just  try 
Madge ; and  111  see  if  I can  get  her  keepit  in  ony 
Letter  order.  And  at  ony  rate,  if  he  suld  hear  her 
skirling  her  auld  ends  o’  sangs,  he's  no  to  ken  for 
that  that  there's  ony  body  wi’  her.” 

“ That's  true,”  said  Sharpitlaw  ; “ and  if  he  thinks 
her  alone  he's  as  like  to  come  towards  her  as  to 
rin  frae  her.  So  set  forward  — we  hae  lost  ower 
muckle  time  already  — see  to  get  her  to  keep  the 
right  road.” 

“And  what  sort  o’  house  does  Nicol  Muschat 
and  his  wife  keep  now  ? ” said  Ratcliffe  to  the  mad- 
woman, by  way  of  humouring  her  vein  of  folly; 

“ they  were  but  thrawn  folk  lang  syne,  an  a'  tales 
be  true." 

“Ou,  ay,  ay,  ay  — but  a’s  forgotten  now,"  replied 
Madge,  in  the  confidential  tone  of  a gossip  giving 
the  history  of  her  next-door  neighbour  — “Ye  see, 

I spoke  to  them  mysell,  and  tauld  them  byganes 
suld  be  byganes  — her  throat's  sair  misguggled  and 
mashackered  though ; she  wears  her  corpse-sheet 
drawn  weel  up  to  hide  it,  but  that  canna  hinder  the 
bluid  seiping  through,  ye  ken.  I wussed  her  to 
wash  it  in  St.  Anthony's  Well,  and  that  will  cleanse  l 
if  ony  thing  can  — But  they  say  bluid  never  bleaches 
out  o'  linen  claith  — Deacon  Sanders’s  new  cleans-  j 
ing  draps  winna  do't  — I tried  them  mysell  on  a bit 
rag  we  hae  at  hame  that  was  mailed  wi’  the  bluid 
of  a bit  skirling  wean  that  was  hurt  some  gate,  but 
out  it  winna  come  — Weel,  ye’ll  say  that’s  queer ; 
but  I will  bring  it  out  to  St.  Anthony's  blessed  Well 
some  braw  night  just  like  this,  and  I'll  cry  up  Ailie 
Muschat,  and  she  and  I will  hae  a grand  bouking- 
washing,  and  bleach  our  claise  in  the  beams  of  the 
bonny  Lady  Moon,  that’s  far  pleasanter  to  me  than 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN. 


255 


the  sun  — the  sun's  ower  het,  and  ken  ye,  cummers, 
my  brains  are  het  eneugh  already.  But  the  moon, 
and  the  dew,  and  the  night-wind,  they  are  just  like 
a caller  kail-blade  laid  on  my  brow and  whiles  I 
think  the  moon  just  shines  on  purpose  to  pleasure 
me,  when  naebody  sees  her  but  myselL,, 

This  raving  discourse  she  continued  with  pro- 
digious volubility,  walking  on  at  a great  pace,  and 
dragging  Ratcliffe  along  with  her,  while  he  endeav- 
oured, in  appearance  at  least,  if  not  in  reality,  to 
induce  her  to  moderate  her  voice. 

All  at  once,  she  stopped  short  upon  the  top  of 
a little  hillock,  gazed  upward  fixedly,  and  said  not 
one  word  for  the  space  of  five  minutes.  “ What  the 
devil  is  the  matter  with  her  now  ? ” said  Sharpitlaw 
to  Ratcliffe  — “ Can  you  not  get  her  forward  ? ” 

“ Ye  maun  just  take  a grain  o’  patience  wi’  her 
sir,”  said  Ratcliffe.  “ She’ll  no  gae  a foot  faster 
than  she  likes  hersell.” 

“ D— n her,”  said  Sharpitlaw,  “ I’ll  take  care  she 
has  her  time  in  Bedlam  or  Bridewell,  or  both,  for 
she’s  both  mad  and  mischievous.” 

In  the  meanwhile,  Madge,  who  had  looked  very 
pensive  when  she  first  stopped,  suddenly  burst  into 
a vehement  fit  of  laughter,  then  paused  and  sighed 
bitterly, — then  was  seized  with  a second  fit  of 
laughter,  — then,  fixing  her  eyes  on  the  moon,  lifted 
up  her  voice  and  sung,  — 

“ Good  even,  good  fair  moon,  good  even  to  thee  ; 

I prithee,  dear  moon,  now  show  to  me 

The  form  and  the  features,  the  speech  and  degree, 

Of  the  man  that  true  lover  of  mine  shall  be.” 

u But  I need  not  ask  that  of  the  bonny  Lady  Moon 
— I ken  that  weel  eneugh  mysell  — true- love  though 


2$6  TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 

he  wasna  — But  naebody  shall  say  that  I ever  tauld 
a word  about  the  matter  — But  whiles  I wish  the 
bairn  had  lived  — Weel,  God  guide  us,  there’s  a 
heaven  aboon  us  a’,”  — (here  she  sighed  bitterly,) 

“ and  a bonny  moon,  and  sterns  in  it  forby  ” (and 
here  she  laughed  once  more.) 

“ Are  we  to  stand  here  all  night  ? ” said  Sharpit- 
law,  very  impatiently.  “ Drag  her  forward.” 

“Ay,  sir,”  said  Ratcliffe,  “ if  we  kend  whilk  way 
to  drag  her,  that  would  settle  it  at  ance.  — Come, 
Madge,  hinny,”  addressing  her,  “ we’ll  no  be  in 
time  to  see  Nicol  and  his  wife,  unless  ye  show  us 
the  road.” 

“ In  troth  and  that  I will,  Ratton,”  said  she, 
seizing  him  by  the  arm,  and  resuming  her  route 
with  huge  strides,  considering  it  was  a female  who 
took  them.  “ And  I’ll  tell  ye,  Ratton,  blithe  will 
Nicol  Muschat  be  to  see  ye,  for  he  says  he  kens 
weel  there  isna  sic  a villain  out  o’  hell  as  ye  are, 
and  he  wad  be  ravished  to  hae  a crack  wi’  you  — 
like  to  like,  ye  ken  — it’s  a proverb  never  fails  — 
and  ye  are  baith  a pair  o’  the  deevil’s  peats,  I trow 
— hard  to  ken  whilk  deserves  the  hettest  corner  o’ 
his  ingle-side.” 

Ratcliffe  was  conscience-struck,  and  could  not  for-  1 
bear  making  an  involuntary  protest  against  this  ; 
classification.  “ I never  shed  blood,”  he  replied. 

“ But  ye  hae  sauld  it,  Ratton  — ye  hae  sauld 
blood  mony  a time.  Folk  kill  wi’  the  tongue  as 
weel  as  wi’  the  hand  — wi’  the  word  as  weel  as  wi’ 
the  gulley ! — 

e It,  is  the  bonny  butcher  lad, 

■ That  wears  the  sleeves  of  blue, 

He  sells  the  flesh  on  Saturday, 

On  Friday  that  he  slew.’  ” 


THE  HEART  OE  MlD-LOTHIAN.  257 

“ And  what  is  that  I am  doing  now  ? ” thought 
Ratcliffe.  “But  I’ll  hae  nae  wyte  of  Robertson’s 
young  bluid,  if  1 can  help  it ; ” then  speaking  apart 
to  Madge,  he  asked  her,  “ Whether  she  did  not  re- 
member ony  0’  her  auld  sangs  ? ” 

“ Mony  a dainty  ane,”  said  Madge  ; “ and  blithely 
can  I sing  them,  for  lightsome  sangs  make  merry 
gate.”  And  she  sang,  — 

“ When  the  glede’s  in  the  blue  cloud, 

The  lavrock  lies  still  ; 

When  the  hound’s  in  the  green- wood, 

The  hind  keeps  the  hill.” 

“ Silence  her  cursed  noise,  if  you  should  throttle 
her,”  said  Sharpitlaw ; “ I see  somebody  yonder.  — 
Keep  close,  my  boys,  and  creep  round  the  shoulder 
of  the  height.  George  Poinder,  stay  you  with  Rat- 
cliffe and  that  mad  yelling  bitch ; and  you  other 
two,  come  with  me  round  under  the  shadow  of  the 
brae.” 

And  he  crept  forward  with  the  stealthy  pace  of 
an  Indian  savage,  who  leads  his  band  to  surprise 
an  unsuspecting  party  of  some  hostile  tribe.  Rat- 
cliffe saw  them  glide  off,  avoiding  the  moonlight, 
and  keeping  as  much  in  the  shade  as  possible. 
“Robertson’s  done  up,”  said  he  to  himself;  “ thae 
young  lads  are  aye  sae  thoughtless.  What  deevil 
could  he  hae  to  say  to  Jeanie  Deans,  or  to  ony 
woman  on  earth,  that  he  suld  gang  awa  and  get  his 
neck  raxed  for  her  ? And  this  mad  quean,  after 
cracking  like  a pen-gun,  (n)  and  skirling  like  a pea- 
hen for  the  haill  night,  behoves  just  to  hae  hadden 
her  tongue  when  her  clavers  might  have  done  some 
gude  ! But  it’s  aye  the  way  wi’  women  ; if  they 
ever  baud  their  tongues  ava’,  ye  may  swear  it’s  fo^ 


2 sS 


TALES  OE  MY  LANDLORD. 


mischief.  I wish  I could  set  her  on  again  without 
this  blood-sucker  kenning  what  I am  doing.  But 
he’s  as  gleg  as  MacKeachan’s  elshin,  that  ran 
through  sax  plies  of  bend-leather  and  half  an  inch 
into  the  king’s  heel.” 

He  then  began  to  hum,  but  in  a very  low  and 
suppressed  tone,  the  first  stanza  of  a favourite  bal- 
lad of  Wildfire’s,  the  words  of  which  bore  some  dis- 
tant analogy  with  the  situation  of  Robertson,  trust- 
ing that  the  power  of  association  would  not  fail  to 
bring  the  rest  to  her  mind : 

“ There’s  a bloodhound  ranging  Tinwald  wood, 

There’s  harness  glancing  sheen ; 

There’s  a maiden  sits  on  Tinwald  brae, 

And  she  sings  loud  between.” 

Madge  had  no  sooner  received  the  catch-word, 
than  she  vindicated  Ratcliffe’s  sagacity  by  setting 
off  at  score  with  the  song : 

“ 0 sleep  ye  sound,  Sir  James,  she  said, 

When  ye  suld  rise  and  ride  ? 

There’s  twenty  men,  wi’  bow  and  blade, 

Are  seeking  where  ye  hide.” 

Though  Ratcliffe  was  at  a considerable  distance 
from  the  spot  called -Muschat’s  Cairn,  yet  his  eyes, 
practised  like  those  of  a cat  to  penetrate  darkness, 
could  mark  that  Robertson  had  caught  the  alarm. 
George  Poinder,  less  keen  of  sight,  or  less  attentive, 
was  not  aware  of  his  flight  any  more  than  Sharpit- 
law  and  his  assistants,  whose  view,  though  they 
were  considerably  nearer  to  the  cairn,  was  inter- 
cepted by  the  broken  nature  of  the  ground  under 
which  they  were  screening  themselves.  At  length, 
however,  after  the  interval  of  five  or  six  minutes 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN.  259 

they  also  perceived  that  Robertson  had  fled,  and 
rushed  hastily  towards  the  place,  while  Sharpitlaw 
called  out  aloud,  in  the  harshest  tones  of  a voice 
which  resembled  a saw-mill  at  work,  “ Chase,  lads 

— chase  — hand  the  brae  — I see  him  on  the  edge 
of  the  hill ! ” Then  holloaing  back  to  the  rear- 
guard of  his  detachment,  he  issued  his  farther 
orders:  “Ratcliffe,  come  here,  and  detain  the  woman 

— George,  run  and  kepp  the  stile  at  the  Duke’s 
Walk  — Ratcliffe,  come  here  directly  — but  first 
knock  out  that  mad  bitch’s  brains  ! ” 

“ Ye  had  better  rin  for  it,  Madge,”  said  Ratcliffe, 
“ for  it’s  ill  dealing  wi’  an  angry  man.” 

Madge  Wildfire  was  not  so  absolutely  void  of 
common  sense  as  not  to  understand  this  innuendo ; 
and  while  Ratcliffe,  in  seemingly  anxious  haste  of 
obedience,  hastened  to  the  spot  where  Sharpitlaw 
waited  to  deliver  up  Jeanie  Deans  to  his  custody, 
she  fled  with  all  the  dispatch  she  could  exert  in  an 
opposite  direction.  Thus  the  whole  party  were 
separated,  and  in  rapid  motion  of  flight  or  pursuit, 
excepting  Ratcliffe  and  Jeanie,  whom,  although 
making  no  attempt  to  escape,  he  held  fast  by  the 
cloak,  and  who  remained  standing  by  Muschat’s 
Cairn. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 


You  have  paid  the  heavens  your  function,  and  the  prisoner  the 
very  debt  of  your  calling.  . • 

J Measure  for  Measure. 

Jeanie  Deans,  — for  here  our  story  unites  itself 
with  that  part  of  the  narrative  which  broke  off  at  'j 
the  end  of  Chapter  XV.,  — while  she  waited,  in 
terror  and  amazement,  the  hasty  advance  of  three  . 
or  four  men  towards  her,  was  yet  more  startled  at 
their  suddenly  breaking  asunder,  and  giving  chase 
in  different  directions  to  the  late  object  of  her  ter- : 
ror,  who  became  at  that  moment,  though  she  could' 
not  well  assign  a reasonable  cause,  rather  the  cause 
of  her  interest.  One  of  the  party  (it  was  Sharpit- 
law)  came  straight  up  to  her,  and  saying,  “ Your  .1 
name  is  Jeanie  Deans,  and  you  are  my  prisoner,  j 
immediately  added,  “but  if  you  will  tell  me  which  i 
way  he  ran  I will  let  you  go.”  J j 

“I  dinna  ken,  sir,”  was  all  the  poor  girl  could 
utter ; and,  indeed,  it  is  the  phrase  which  rises  most' 
readily  to  the  lips  of  any  person  in  her  rank,  as  the 
readiest  reply  to  any  embarrassing  question. 

“ But,”  said  Sharpitlaw,  “ ye  hen  wha  it  was  ye  j 
were  speaking  wi\  my  leddy,  on  the  hill  side,  and 
midnight  sae  near ; ye  surely  ken  that,  my  onny 

woman  ? ” , 

“I  dinna  ken,  sir,”  again  iterated  Jeanie,  who 
really  did  not  comprehend  in  her  terror  the  nature 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN. 


261 


of  the  questions  which  were  so  hastily  put  to  her 
in  this  moment  of  surprise. 

“We  will  try  to  mend  your  memory  by  and  by, 
hinny,”  said  Sharpitlaw,  and  shouted,  as  we  have 
already  told  the  reader,  to  Katcliffe,  to  come  up  and 
take  charge  of  her,  while  he  himself  directed  the 
chase  after  Robertson,  which  he  still  hoped  might 
be  successful.  As  Katcliffe  approached,  Sharpitlaw 
pushed  the  young  woman  towards  him  with  some 
rudeness,  and  betaking  himself  to  the  more  impor- 
tant object  of  his  quest,  began  to  scale  crags  and 
scramble  up  steep  banks,  with  an  agility  of  which 
his  profession  and  his  general  gravity  of  demeanour 
would  previously  have  argued  him  incapable.  In  a 
few  minutes  there  was  no  one  within  sight,  and  only 
a distant  halloo  from  one  of  the  pursuers  to  the 
other,  faintly  heard  on  the  side  of  the  hill,  argued 
that  there  was  any  one  within  hearing.  Jeanie 
Deans  was  left  in  the  clear  moonlight,  standing  un- 
der the  guard  of  a person  of  whom  she  knew  noth- 
ing, and,  what  was  worse,  concerning  whom,  as  the 
reader  is  well  aware,  she  could  have  learned  nothing 
that  would  not  have  increased  her  terror. 

When  all  in  the  distance  was  silent,  Katcliffe  for 
the  first  time  addressed  her,  and  it  was  in  that  cold 
sarcastic  indifferent  tone  familiar  to  habitual  deprav- 
ity, whose  crimes  are  instigated  by  custom  rather 
than  by  passion.  “ TWIs  is  a braw  night  for  ye, 
dearie,”  he  said,  attempting  to  pass  his  arm  across 
her  shoulder,  “ to  be  on  the  green  hill  wi’  your  jo.” 
Jeanie  extricated  herself  from  his  grasp,  but  did  not 
make  any  reply.  “ I think  lads  and  lasses,”  con- 
tinued the  ruffian,  “ dinna  meet  at  Muschat’s  Cairn 
at  midnight  to  crack  nuts,”  and  he  again  attempted 
to  take  hold  of  her. 


262  TALES  OE  MY  LANDLORD. 

“ If  ye  are  an  officer  of  justice,  sir/’  said  Jeanie 
again  eluding  his  attempt  to  seize  her,  “ye  deserve 
to  have  your  coat  stripped  from  your  back.” 

“Very  true,  hinny,”  said  he,  succeeding  forcibly 
in  his  attempt  to  get  hold  of  her,  “ but  suppose  1 
should  strip  your  cloak  off  first  ? ” 

“ Ye  are  more  a man,  I am  sure,  than  to  hurt  me, 
sir,”  said  Jeanie ; “ for  God’s  sake  have  pity  on  a 
half-distracted  creature ! ” 

“ Come,  come,”  said  Ratcliffe,  “ you’re  a good-look- 
ing wench,  and  should  not  be  cross-grained.  I was 
going  to  be  an  honest  man  — but  the  devil  has  this 
very  day  flung  first  a lawyer,  and  then  a woman,  in 
my  gate.  I’ll  tell  you  what,  Jeanie,  they  are  out  on 
the  hill-side  — if  you’ll  be  guided  by  me,  I’ll  carry 
you  to  a wee  bit  corner  in  the  Pleasance,  that  I ken 
o’  in  an  auld  wife’s,  that  a’  the  prokitors  o’  Scotland  , 
wot  naething  o’,  and  we’ll  send  Robertson  word  to  ; 
meet  us  in  Yorkshire,  for  there  is  a set  o’  braw  lads 
about  the  mid-land  counties,  that  I hae  dune  busi- 
ness wi’  before  now,  and  sae  we’ll  leave  Mr.  Sharpit- 
law  to  whistle  on  his  thumb.” 

It  was  fortunate  for  Jeanie,  in  an  emergency 
like  the  present,  that  she  possessed"'  presence  of ' 
mind  and  courage,  so  soon  as  the  first  hurry  of 
surprise  had  enabled  her  to  rally  her  recollection.  \ 
She  saw  the  risk  she  was  in  from  a ruffian,  who 
not  only  was  such  by  profession,  but  had  that  even- 
ing been  stupifying,  by  means  of  strong  liquors, 
the  internal  aversion  which  he  felt  at  the  busi- 
ness on  which  Sharpitlaw  had  resolved  to  employ 
him. 

“Dinna  speak  sae  loud,”  said  she,  in  a low  voice. 

“ he’s  up  yonder.” 

“ Who  ? — Robertson  ? ” said  Ratcliffe,  eagerly. 


THE  HEART  OE  MID-LOTHIAN. 


2G3 


“ Ay,”  replied  Jeanie ; “ up  yonder ; ” and  she 
pointed  to  the  ruins  of  the  hermitage  and  chapel. 

“ By  G — d,  then,”  said  Ratcliffe,  “ I’ll  make  my 
ain  of  him,  either  one  way  or  other  — wait  for  me 
here.” 

But  no  sooner  had  he  set  off,  as  fast  as  he  could 
run,  towards  the  chapel,  than  Jeanie  started  in  an 
opposite  direction,  over  high  and  low,  on  the  nearest 
path  homeward.  Her  juvenile  exercise  as  a herds- 
woman  had  put  “ life  and  mettle  ” in  her  heels,  and 
never  had  she  followed  Dustiefoot,  when  the  cows 
were  in  the  corn,  with  half  so  much  speed  as  she 
now  cleared  the  distance  betwixt  Muschat’s  Cairn 
and  her  father’s  cottage  at  Saint  Leonard’s.  To  lift 
the  latch  — to  enter  — to  shut,  bolt,  and  double 
bolt  the  door  — to  draw  against  it  a heavy  article  of 
furniture,  (which  she  could  not  have  moved  in  a 
moment  of  less  energy,)  so  as  to  make  yet  farther 
provision  against  violence,  was  almost  the  work  of  a 
mojnent,  yet  done  with  such  silence  as  equalled  the 
celerity. 

Her  next  anxiety  was  upon  her  father’s  account, 
and  she  drew  silently  to  the  door  of  his  apartment, 
in  order  to  satisfy  herself  whether  he  had  been  dis- 
turbed by  her  return.  He  was  awake,  — probably 
had  slept  but  little ; but  the  constant  presence  of 
his  own  sorrows,  the  distance  of  his  apartment  from 
the  outer-door  of  the  house,  and  the  precautions 
which  Jeanie  had  taken  to  conceal  her  departure 
and  return,  had  prevented  him  from  being  sensible  of 
either.  He  was  engaged  in  his  devotions,  and  Jeaniefs 
could  distinctly  hear  him  use  these  words  : “ And 

for  the  other  child  thou  hast  given  me  to  be  a com- 
fort and  stay  to  my  old  age,  may  her  days  be  long 
in  the  land,  according  to  the  promise  thou  hast 


264 


TALES  OE  MY  LANDLORD. 


given  to  those  who  shall  honour  father  and  mother ; 
may  all  her  purchased  and  promised  blessings  be 
multiplied  upon  her ; keep  her  in  the  watches  of 
the  night,  and  in  the  uprising  of  the  morning,  that 
all  in  this  land  may  know  that  thou  hast  not  utterly 
hid  thy  face  from  those  that  seek  thee  in  truth  and 
in  sincerity.”  He  was  silent,  but  probably  con- 
tinued his  petition  in  the  strong  fervency  of  mental 
devotion. 

His  daughter  retired  to  her  apartment,  comforted, 
that  while  she  was  exposed  to  danger,  her  head  had 
been  covered  by  the  prayers  of  the  just  as  by  an 
helmet,  and  under  the  strong  confidence,  that  while 
walked  worthy  of  the  protection  of  Heaven,  she 


would 


wuuiu  experience  its  countenance.  It  was  in  that 
moment  that  a vague  idea  first  darted  across  her 


mind,  that  something  might  yet  be  achieved  for  her 
nsTster’s  safety,  conscious  as  she  now  was  of  her 
innocence  of  the  unnatural  murder  with  which  she 
stood  charged.  It  came,  as  she  described  it,  on  her 
mind,  like  a sun-blink  on  a stormy  sea;  and  al- 
though it  instantly  vanished,  yet  she  felt  a degree 
of  composure  which  she  had  not  experienced  for 
many  days,  and  could  not  help  being  strongly  per- 
suaded that,  by  some  means  or  other,  she  would  be 
called  upon,  and  directed,  to  work  out  her  sister’s 
tdiverance.  She  went  to  bed,  not  forgetting  her 
usual  devotions,  the  more  fervently  made  on  account 
of  her  late  deliverance,  and  she  slept  soundly  in 
spite  of  her  agitation. 

We  must  return  to  Ratcliffe,  who  had  started,  like 
a greyhound  from  the  slips  when  the  sportsman  cries 
halloo,  so  soon  as  Jeanie  had  pointed  to  the  ruins. 
Whether  he  meant  to  aid  Robertson’s  escape,  or  to 
assist  his  pursuers,  may  be  very  doubtful : perhaps 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN. 


26s 


he  did  not  himself  know,  but  had  resolved  to  he 
guided  by  circumstances.  He  had  no  opportunity, 
however,  of  doing  either ; for  he  had  no  sooner  sur- 
mounted the  steep  ascent,  and  entered  under  the 
broken  arches  of  the  ruins,  than  a pistol  was  pre- 
sented at  his  head,  and  a harsh  voice  commanded 
him,  in  the  king’s  name,  to  surrender  himself  pris- 
oner. “ Mr.  Sharpitlaw  ! ” said  Ratcliffe,  surprised, 
“ is  this  your  honour  ? ” 

“ Is  it  only  you,  and  be  d — d to  you  ? ” answered 
the  fiscal,  still  more  disappointed  — “ what  made 
you  leave  the  woman  ? ” 

“ She  told  me  she  saw  Robertson  go  into  the  ruins, 
so  I made  what  haste  I could  to  cleek  the  callant.” 

“ It’s  all  over  now,”  said  Sharpitlaw ; “ we  shall 
see  no  more  of  him  to-night ; but  he  shall  hide  him- 
self in  a bean-liool,  if  he  remains  on  Scottish  ground 
without  my  finding  him.  Call  back  the  people, 
Ratcliffe.” 

Ratcliffe  holloaed  to  the  dispersed  officers,  who 
willingly  obeyed  the  signal ; for  probably  there  was 
no  individual  among  them  who  would  have  been 
much  desirous  of  a rencontre  hand  to  hand,  and  at  a 
distance  from  his  comrades,  with  such  an  active  and 
desperate  fellow  as  Robertson. 

“ And  where  are  the  two  women?”  said  Sharpitlaw. 

“ Both  made  their  heels  serve  them,  I suspect,”  re- 
plied Ratcliffe,  and  he  hummed  the  end  of  the  old 
song  — 

“ Then  hey  play  up  the  rin-awa  bride, 

For  she  has  taen  the  gee.5’ 

“ One  woman,”  said  Sharpitlaw,  — for,  like  all 
rogues,  he  was  a great  calumniator  of  the  fair  sex,1 

1 Note  XI.  — Calumniator  of  the  Fair  Sex. 


266  TALES  OE  MY  LANDLORD. 

— “ one  woman  is  enough  to  dark  the  fairest  ploy 
that  ever  was  planned ; and  how  could  I be  such  an 
ass  as  to  expect  to  carry  through  a job  that  had  two 
in  it  ? But  we  know  how  to  come  by  them  both,  if 
they  are  wanted,  that’s  one  good  thing.” 

Accordingly,  like  a defeated  general,  sad  and 
sulky,  he  led  back  his  discomfited  forces  to  the 
metropolis,  and  dismissed  them  for  the  night. 

The  next  morning  early,  he  was  under  the  neces- 
sity of  making  his  report  to  the  sitting  magistrate 
of  the  day.  The  gentleman  who  occupied  the  chair 
of  office  on  this  occasion  (for  the  bailies,  Anglice, 
aldermen,  take  it  by  rotation)  chanced  to  be  the 
same  by  whom  Butler  was  committed,  a person 
very  generally  respected  among  his  fellow-citizens. 
Something  he  was  of  a humorist,  and  rather  deficient 
in  general  education  ; but  acute,  patient,  and  upright, 
possessed  of  a fortune  acquired  by  honest  industry, 
which  made  him  perfectly  independent ; and,  in 
short,  very  happily  qualified  to  support  the  respect- 
ability of  the  office  which  he  held. 

Mr.  Middleburgh  had  just  taken  his  seat,  and  was 
debating  in  an  animated  manner,  with  one  of  his 
colleagues,  the  doubtful  chances  of  a game  at  golf 
which  they  had  played  the  day  before,  when  a letter 
was  delivered  to  him,  addressed  “For  Bailie  Middle- 
burgh ; These : to  be  forwarded  with  speed.”  It 
contained  these  words : — 

“ Sir,  — I know  you  to  be  a sensible  and  a consider- 
ate magistrate,  and  one  who,  as  such,  wjll  be  content 
to  worship  God,  though  the  devil  bid  you.  I therefore 
expect  that,  notwithstanding  the  signature  of  this  let- 
ter acknowledges  my  share  in  an  action,  which,  in  a 
proper  time  and  place,  I would  not  fear  either  to  avow 
or  to  justify,  you  will  not  on  that  account  reject  what 


267 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTIIIAN. 

evidence  I place  before  you.  The  clergyman,  Butler, 
is  innocent  of  all  but  involuntary  presence  at  an  action 
which  he  wanted  spirit  to  approve  of,  and  from  which 
he  endeavoured,  with  his  best  set  phrases,  to  dissuade 
us.  But  it  was  not  for  him  that  it  is  my  hint  to  speak. 
There  is  a woman  in  your  jail,  fallen  under  the  edge  of 
a law  so  cruel,  that  it  has  hung  by  the  wall,  like  un- 
scoured armour,  for  twenty  years,  and  is  now  brought 
down  and  whetted  to  spill  the  blood  of  the  most  beauti- 
ful and  most  innocent  creature  whom  the  walls  of  a 
prison  ever  girdled  in.  Her  sister  knows  of  her  inno- 
cence, as  she  communicated  to  her  that  she  was  betrayed 
by  a villain.  — 0 that  high  Heaven 


* Would  put  in  every  honest  hand  a whip, 

To  scourge  me  such  a villain  through  the  world  ! ’ 

“ I write  distractedly  — But  this  girl  — this  Jeanie 
Deans,  is  a peevish  puritan,  superstitious  and  scrupu- 
lous after  the  manner  of  her  sect ; and  I pray  your  hon- 
our, for  so  my  phrase  must  go,  to  press  upon  her,  that 
her  sister’s  life  depends  upon  her  testimony.  But 
though  she  should  remain  silent,  do  not  dare  to  think 
that  the  young  woman  is  guilty  — far  less  to  permit  her 
execution.  Remember  the  death  of  Wilson  was  fear- 
fully avenged ; and  those  yet  live  who  can  compel  you 
to  drink  the  dregs  of  your  poisoned  chalice.  I say,  re- 
member Porteous,  — and  say  that  you  had  good  counsel 
from 


The  magistrate  read  over  this  extraordinary  letter 
twice  or  thrice.  At  first  he  was  tempted  to  throw 
it  aside  as  the  production  of  a madman,  so  little  did 
“ the  scraps  from  playbooks,”  as  he  termed  the  poeti- 
cal quotation,  resemble  the  correspondence  of  a ra- 
tional being.  On  a re-perusal,  however,  he  thought 
that,  amid  its  incoherence,  he  could  discover  some- 


“One  of  his  Slayers.” 


268 


TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 


thing  like  a tone  of  awakened  passion,  though  ex- 
pressed in  a manner  quaint  and  unusual. 

“ It  is  a cruelly  severe  statute,”  said  the  magis- 
trate to  his  assistant,  “ and  I wish  the  girl  could  he 
taken  from  % under  the  letter  of  it.  A child  may 
have  been  born,  and  it  may  have  been  conveyed 
away  while  the  mother  was  insensible,  or  it  may 
have  perished  for  want  of  that  relief  which  the  poor 
creature  herself  — helpless,  terrified,  distracted,  de- 
spairing, and  exhausted  — may  have  been  unable  to 
afford  to  it.  And  yet  it  is  certain,  if  the  woman  is 
found  guilty  under  the  statute,  execution  will  fol- 
low. The  crime  has  been  too  common,  and  examples 
are  necessary.” 

“ But  if  this  other  wench,”  said  the  city-clerk, 
“ can  speak  to  her  sister  communicating  her  situa- 
tion, it  will  take  the  case  from  under  the  statute.” 

aVery  true/’  replied  the  Bailie;  “and  I will 
walk  out  one  of  these  days  to  St.  Leonard’s,  and 
examine  the  girl  myself.  I know  something  of 
their  father  Deans  — an  old  true-blue  Cameronian, 
who  would  see  house  and  family  go  to  wreck  ere 
he  would  disgrace  his  testimony  by  a sinful  com- 
plying with  the  defections  of  the  times ; and  such 
he  will  probably  uphold  the  taking  an  oath  before 
a civil  magistrate.  If  they  are  to  go  on  and  flour- 
ish with  their  bull-headed  obstinacy,  the  legislature 
must  pass  an  act  to  take  their  affirmations,  as  in 
the  case  of  Quakers.  But  surely  neither  a father 
nor  a sister  will  scruple  in  a case  of  this  kind.  As 
I said  before,  I will  go  speak  with  them  myself, 
when  the  hurry  of  this  Porteous  investigation  is 
somewhat  over ; their  pride  and  spirit  of  contradic- 
tion will  be  far  less  alarmed,  than  if  they  were 
called  into  a court  of  justice  at  once.” 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN . 269 

“ And  I suppose  Butler  is  to  remain  incarcerated  ? r 
said  the  city-clerk. 

“ For  the  present,  certainly/'  said  the  magistrate. 
“ But  I hope  soon  to  set  him  at  liberty  upon  bail.” 

“ Do  you  rest  upon  the  testimony  of  that  light- 
headed letter  ? asked  the  clerk. 

“ Not  very  much,''  answered  the  Bailie  ; “and  yet 
there  is  something  striking  about  it  too  — it  seems 
the  letter  of  a man  beside  himself,  either  from  great 
agitation,  or  some  great  sense  of  guilt.” 

“ Yes  ” said  the  town-clerk,  “ it  is  very  like  the 
letter  of  a mad  strolling  play-actor,  who  deserves 
to  be  hanged  with  all  the  rest  of  his  gang,  as  your 
honour  justly  observes.” 

“ I was  not  quite  so  bloodthirsty,  continued 
the  magistrate.  “ But  to  the  point.  Butler’s  pri- 
vate character  is  excellent ; and  I am  given  to  un- 
derstand, by  some  enquiries  I have  been  making 
this  morning,  that  he  did  actually  arrive  in  town 
only  the  day  before  yesterday,  so  that  it  was  im- 
possible he  could  have  been  concerned  in  any  pre- 
vious machinations  of  these  unhappy  rioters,  and  it 
is  not  likely  that  he  should  have  joined  them  on  a 
suddenty.” 

“ There’s  no  saying  anent  that  — zeal  catches  fire 
at  a slight  spark  as  fast  as  a brunstane  match,” 
observed  the  secretary.  “I  hae  kend  a minister 
wad'  be  fair  gude  day  and  fair  gude  e’en  wi’  ilka 
man  in  the  parochine,  and  hing  just  as  quiet  as  a 
rocket  on  a stick,  till  ye  mentioned  the  word  abju- 
ration-oatli,  or  patronage,  or  siclike,  and  then,  whiz, 
he  was  off,  and  up  in  the  air  an  hundred  miles 
beyond  common  manners,  common  sense,  and  com- 
mon comprehension.” 

“ X do  not  understand,”  answered  the  burgher 


270 


TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 


\a 


, 


X,A> 


C\  \ 


magistrate,  “that  the  young  man  Butler’s  zeal  is 
of  so  inflammable  a character.  But  I will  make 
farther  investigation.  What  other  business  is  there 
before  us  ? ” 

And  they  proceeded  to  minute  investigations 
concerning  the  affair  of  Porteous’s  death,  and  other 
affairs  through  which  this  history  has  no  occasion 
to  trace  them.  - 

In  the  course  of  their  business  they  were  inter- 
rupted by  an  old  woman  of  the  lower  rank,  ex- 
tremely haggard  in  look,  and  wretched  in  her  ap- 
parel, who  thrust  herself  into  the  council  room. 

“ What  do  you  want,  gudewife  ? — Who  are 
you?”  said  Bailie  Middleburgh. 

“ What  do  I want ! ” replied  she,  in  a sulky  tone 
— “I  want  my  bairn,  or  I want  naething  frae  nane 
o’  ye,  for  as  grand's  ye  are/5  And  she  went  on 
muttering  to  herself,  with  the  wayward  spitefulness 
of  age  — cs  They  maun  hae  lordships  and  honours, 
nae  doubt  — set  them  up,  the  gutter-bloods 1 and 
deil  a gentleman  amang  them.”  — Then  again  ad- 
dressing the  sitting  magistrate,  “ Will  your  honour 
gie  me  back  my  puir  crazy  bairn  ? — His  honour  ! — 
I hae  kend  the  day  when  less  wad  ser’d  him,  the 
oe  of  a Campvere  skipper/5 

“ Good  woman/5  said  the  magistrate  to  this  shrew- 
ish supplicant,  — tell  us  what  it  is  you  want,  and 
do  not  interrupt  the  court/5 

“ That's  as  muckle  as  till  say,  Bark,  Bawtie,  and 
be  dune  wi’t!  — I tell  ye/’  raising  her  termagant 
voice,  “ I want  my  bairn  ! is  na  that  braid  Scots  ?” 

“ Who  are  you  ? — who  is  your  bairn  ? ” demanded 
the  magistrate. 

“ Wha  am  I ? — wha  suld  I be,  but 
dockson,  and  wha  suld  my  bairn  be  but 


Meg  Mur- 
TVIagdaleiT 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN. 


271 


Murdockson  ? — Your  guard  soldiers,  and  your  con- 
stables, and  your  officers,  ken  us  weel  eneugh  when 
they  rive  the  bits  o’  duds  aff  our  backs,  and  take 
what  penny  o’  siller  we  hae,  and  harle  us  to  the 
Correction-house  in  Leith  Wynd,  and  pettle  us  up 
wi’  bread  and  water,  and  siclike  sunkets.” 

“ Who  is  she  ? said  the  magistrate,  looking 
round  to  some  of  his  people. 

“ Other  than  a gude  ane,  sir,”  said  one  of  the  city- 
officers,  shrugging  his  shoulders,  and  smiling. 

“ Will  ye  say  sae  ? ” said  the  termagant,  her  eye 
gleaming  with  impotent  fury ; “ an  I had  ye  amang 
the  Frigate- Whins,  wadna  I set  my  ten  talents  in 
your  wuzzent  face  for  that  very  word  ? ” and  she 
suited  the  word  to  the  action,  by  spreading  out  a 
set  of  claws  resembling  those  of  St.  George’s  dra- 
gon on  a country  sign-post. 

“ What  does  she  want  here  ? 99  said  the  impatient 
magistrate  — “ Can  she  not  tell  her  business,  or  go 
away  ? ” 

“ It’s  my  bairn  ! — it’s  Magdalen  Murdockson 
I’m  wantin’,”  answered  the  beldame,  screaming  at 
the  highest  pitch  of  her  cracked  and  mistuned 
voice  — “ havena  I been  tellin’  ye  sae  this  half- 
hour?  And  if  ye  are  deaf,  what  needs  ye  sit 
cockit  up  there,  and  keep  folk  scraughin’  t’ye  this 
gate  ? ” 

“She  wants  her  daughter,  sir,”  said  the  same 
officer  whose  interference  had  given  the  hag  such 
offence  before  — “ her  daughter,  who  was  taken  up 
last  night  — Madge  Wildfire,  as  they  ca’  her.” 

“ Madge  Hellfire,  as  they  ca’  her  ! ” echoed  the 
beldame ; “ and  what  business  has  a blackguard  like 
you  to  ca’  an  honest  woman’s  bairn  out  o’  her  ain 
name  ? ” 


272  TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 

“An  honest  woman’s  bairn,  Maggie?”  answered 
the  peace-officer,  smiling  and  shaking  his  head  with 
an  ironical  emphasis  on  the  adjective,  and  a calm- 
ness calculated  to  provoke  to  madness  the  furious 
old  shrew 

“ If  I am  no  honest  now,  I was  honest  ance,”  she 
replied ; “ and  that’s  mair  than  ye  can  say,  ye  born 
and  bred  thief,  that  never  kend  ither  folk’s  gear 
frae  your  ain  since  the  day  ye  was  cleckit.  Honest, 
say  ye  ? — ye  pykit  your  mother’s  pouch  o’  twal- 
pennies  Scotch  when  ye  were  five  years  auld,  just 
as  she  was  taking  leave  o’  your  father  at  the  fit  o’ 
the  gallows” 

“ She  has  you  there,  George,”  said  the  assistants, 
and  there  was  a general  laugh , for  the  wit  was  ; 
fitted  for  the  meridian  of  the  place  where  it  was 
uttered.  This  general  applause  somewhat  gratified 
the  passions  of  the  old  hag;  the  “grim  feature”  : 
smiled,  and  even  laughed  — but  it  was  a laugh  of 
bitter  scorn.  She  condescended,  however,  as  if 
appeased  by  the  success  of  her  sally,  to  explain  her 
business  more  distinctly,  when  the  magistrate,  com- 
manding silence,  again  desired  her  either  to  speak 
out  her  errand,  or  to  leave  the  place. 

“Her  bairn,”  she  said,  “was  her  bairn,  and  she  * 
came  to  fetch  her  out  of  ill  haft  and  waur  guiding,  j 
If  she  wasna  sae  wise  as  ither  folk,  few  ither  folk 
had  suffered  as  muckle  as  she  had  done ; forby  that 
she  could  fend  the  waur  for  hersell  within  the  four 
wa’s  of  a jail.  She  could  prove  by  fifty  witnesses, 
and  fifty  to  that,  that  her  daughter  had  never  seen 
Jock  Porteous,  alive  or  dead,  since  he  had  gien  her 
a loundering  wi’  his  cane,  the  neger  that  he  was ! 
for  driving  a dead  cat  at  the  provost’s  wig  on  the 
Elector  of  Hanover’s  birth-day.” 


THE  HEART  OE  MID-LOTHIAN. 


273 


Notwithstanding  the  wretched  appearance  and 
violent  demeanour  of  this  woman,  the  magistrate 
felt  the  justice  of  her  argument,  that  her  child 
might  be  as  dear  to  her  as  to  a more  fortunate 
and  more  amiable  mother.  He  proceeded  to  inves- 
tigate the  circumstances  which  had  led  to  Madge 
Murdockson’s  (or  Wildfire’s)  arrest,  and  as  it  was 
clearly  shown  that  she  had  not  been  engaged  in  the 
riot,  he  contented  himself  with  directing  that  an 
eye  should  be  kept  upon  her  by  the  police,  but  that 
for  the  present  she  should  be  allowed  to  return  home 
with  her  mother.  During  the  interval  of  fetching 
Madge  from  the  jail,  the  magistrate  endeavoured  to 
discover  whether  her  mother  had  been  privy  to 
the  change  of  dress  betwixt  that  young  woman 
and  Robertson.  But  on  this  point  he  could  obtain 
no  light.  She  persisted  in  declaring,  that  she  had 
never  seen  Robertson  since  his  remarkable  escape 
during  service-time;  and  that,  if  her  daughter  had 
changed  clothes  with  him,  it  must  have  been  during 
her  absence  at  a hamlet  about  two  miles  out  of  town, 
called  Duddingstone,  where  she  could  prove  that  she 
passed  that  eventful  night.  And,  in  fact,  one  of  the 
town-officers,  who  had  been  searching  for  stolen  linen 
at  the  cottage  of  a washerwoman  in  that  village,  gave 
his  evidence,  that  he  had  seen  Maggie  Murdockson 
there,  whose  presence  had  considerably  increased  his 
suspicion  of  the  house  in  which  she  was  a visitor,  in 
respect  that  he  considered  her  as  a person  of  no  good 
reputation. 

“ I tauld  ye  sae,”  said  the  hag ; “ see  now  what  it 
is  to  hae  a character,  gude  or  bad!  — Now,  maybe 
after  a’,  I could  tell  ye  something  about  Porteous 
that  you  council-chamber  bodies  never  could  find 
out,  for  as  muckle  stir  as  ye  mak.” 


274 


TALES  OE  MY  LANDLORD. 


All  eyes  were  turned  towards  her  — all  ears  were 
alert.  “ Speak  out ! ” said  the  magistrate. 

“It  will  be  for  your  ain  gude,”  insinuated  the 
town-clerk. 

“ Dinna  keep  the  Bailie  waiting/’  urged  the 
assistants. 

She  remained  doggedly  silent  for  two  or  three 
minutes,  casting  around  a malignant  and  sulky 
glance,  that  seemed  to  enjoy  the  anxious  suspense 
with  which  they  waited  her  answer.  And  then  she 
broke  forth  at  once,  — - “ A’  that  I ken  about  him  is, 
that  he  was  neither  soldier  nor  gentleman,  but  just 
a thief  and  a blackguard,  like  maist  o’  yoursells, 
dears  — What  will  ye  gie  me  for  that  news,  now  ? — 
He  wad  hae  served  the  gude  town  lang  or  provost 
or  bailie  wad  hae  fund  that  out,  my  joe ! ” 

While  these  matters  were  in  discussion,  Madge 
Wildfire  entered,  and  her  first  exclamation  was, ; 
“ Eh ! see  if  there  isna  our  auld  ne’er-do-weel 
deevil’s  buckie  o’  a mither  — Hegh,  sirs!  but  we 
are  a hopef u’  family,  to  be  twa  o’  us  in  the  Guard 
at  ance  — But  there  were  better  days  wi’  us  ance — j 
were  there  na,  mither  ? ” 

Old  Maggie’s  eyes  had  glistened  with  something; 
like  an  expression  of  pleasure  when  she  saw  her 
daughter  set  at  liberty.  But  either  her  natural  , 
affection,  like  that  of  the  tigress,  could  not  be 
displayed  without  a strain  of  ferocity,  or  there 
was  something  in  the  ideas  which  Madge’s  speech 
awakened,  that  again  stirred  her  cross  and  savage 
temper.  “ What  signifies  what  we  were,  ye  street- 
raking  limmer  ! ” she  exclaimed,  pushing  her  daugh- 
ter before  her  to  the  door,  with  no  gentle  degree  of  | 
violence.  “ I’se  tell  thee  what  thou  is  now  — tliou’s  , 
a crazed  hellicat  Bess  o’  Bedlam,  that  sail  taste 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN. 


27s 


naething  but  bread  and  water  for  a fortnight,  to 
serve  ye  for  the  plague  ye  hae  gien  me  — and  ower 
gude  for  ye,  ye  idle  taupie  ! ” 

Madge,  however,  escaped  from  her  mother  at  the 
door,  ran  back  to  the  foot  of  the  table,  dropped  a 
very  low  and  fantastic  curtsey  to  the  judge,  and 
said,  with  a giggling  laugh,  — “ Our  minnie’s  sair 
mis-set,  after  her  ordinar,  sir  — She’ll  hae  had  some 
quarrel  wi’  her  auld  gudeman  — that’s  Satan,  ye 
ken,  sirs.”  This  explanatory  note  she  gave  in  a 
low  confidential  tone,  and  the  spectators  of  that 
credulous  generation  did  not  hear  it  without  an 
involuntary  shudder.  “ The  gudeman  and  her 
disna  aye  gree  weel,  and  then  I maun  pay  the  piper ; 
but  my  back’s  broad  eneugh  to  bear’t  a’  — an’  if  she 
hae  nae  havings,  that’s  nae  reason  why  wiser  folk 
shouldna  hae  some.”  Here  another  deep  curtsey, 
when  the  ungracious  voice  of  her  mother  was 
heard. 

“ Madge,  ye  limmer ! If  I come  to  fetch  ye  ! ” 

“Hear  till  her,”  said  Madge.  “But  I’ll  wun 
out  a gliff  the  night  for  a’  that,  to  dance  in  the 
moonlight,  when  her  and  the  gudeman  will  be 
whirrying  through  the  blue  lift  on  a broom-shank, 
to  see  Jean  Jap,  that  they  hae  putten  in  till  the 
Kirkcaldy  tolbooth  — ay,  they  will  hae  a merry  sail 
ower  Inchkeith,  and  ower  a’  the  bits  o’  bonny 
waves  that  are  poppling  and  plashing  against  the 
rocks  in  the  gowden  glimmer  o’  the  moon,  ye  ken. 
— I’m  coming,  mother  — I’m  coming,”  she  concluded, 
on  hearing  a scuffle  at  the  door  betwixt  the  beldam 
and  the  officers,  who  were  endeavouring  to  prevent 
her  re-entrance.  Madge  then  waved  her  hand 
wildly  towards  the  ceiling,  and  sung,  at  the  top 
most  pitch  of  her  voice,  — 


276 


TALES  OE  MY  LANDLORD. 


u Up  in  the  air. 

On  my  bonny  grey  mare, 

And  I see,  and  I see,  and  I see  her  yet.” 

And  with  a hop,  skip,  and  jump,  sprung  out  of  the 
room,  as  the  witches  of  Macbeth  used,  in  less  refined 
days,  to  seem  to  fly  upwards  from  the  stage. 

Some  weeks  intervened  before  Mr.  Middleburgh, 
agreeably  to  his  benevolent  resolution,  found  an 
opportunity  of  taking  a walk  towards  St.  Leonard’s, 
in  order  to  discover  whether  it  might  be  possible 
to  obtain  the  evidence  hinted  at  in  the  anonymous 
letter  respecting  Effie  Deans. 

In  fact,  the  anxious  perquisitions  made  to  discover 
the  murderers  of  Porteous  occupied  the  attention 
of  all  concerned  with  the  administration  of  justice. 

In  the  course  of  these  enquiries,  two  circum- 
stances happened  material  to  our  story.  Butler, 
after  j^jalose  investigation  of  his  conduct,  wuF~cte- 
clared  innocent  of  accession  to  the  death  of  Por- 
teous ; but,  as  having  been  present  during  the 
whole  transaction,  was  obliged  to  find  bail  not  to 
quit  his  usual  residence  at  Libberton,  that  he  might 
appear  as  a witness  when  called  upon.  The  other 
incident  regarded  the  disappearance  of  Madge 
Wildfire  and  her  mother  from  Edinburgh.  When 
they  were  sought,  with  the  purpose  of  subjecting 
them  to  some  further  interrogatories,  it  was  dis- 
covered by  Mr.  Sharpitlaw  that  they  had  eluded 
the  observation  ~of”  fhe-police,  and  left  the  city  so 
soon  as  dismissed  from  the  council-chamber.  No 
efforts  could  trace  the  place  of  their  retreat. 

In  the  meanwhile  the  excessive  indignation  of 
the  Council  of  Regency,  at  the  slight  put  upon 
their  authority  by  the  murder  of  Porteous,  had  dic- 
tated measures,  in  which  their  own  extreme  desire 


THE  HEART  OE  MID-LOTHIAN. 


277 


of  detecting  the  actors  in  that  conspiracy  were  con- 
sulted, in  preference  to  the  temper  of  the  people, 
and  the  character  of  their  churchmen.  An  act  of 
parliament  was  hastily  passed,  offering  two  hundred 
pounds  reward  to  those  who  should  inform  against 
any  person  concerned  in  the  deed,  and  the  penalty 
of  death,  by  a very  unusual  and  severe  enactment, 
was  denounced  against  those  who  should  harbour 
the  guilty.  But  what  was  chiefly  accounted  ex- 
ceptionable, was  a clause,  appointing  the  act  to  be 
read  in  churches  ( 0 ) by  the  officiating  clergyman, 
on  the  first  Sunday  of  every  month,  for  a certain 
period,  immediately  before  the  sermon.  The  min- 
isters who  should  refuse  to  comply  with  this  in- 
junction were  declared,  for  the  first  offence,  incap- 
able of  sitting  or  voting  in  any  church  judicature, 
and  for  the  second,  incapable  of  holding  any  eccle- 
siastical preferment  in  Scotland. 

This  last  order  united  in  a common  cause  those 
who  might  privately  rejoice  in  Porteous’s  death, 
though  they  dared  not  vindicate  the  manner  of  it, 
with  the  more  scrupulous  presbyterians,  who  held 
that  even  the  pronouncing  the  name  of  the  “ Lord’s 
Spiritual  ” in  a Scottish  pulpit  was,  quodammodo , an 
acknowledgment  of  prelacy,  and  that  the  injunction 
of  the  legislature  was  an  interference  of  the  civil 
government  with  the  jus  divinum  of  presbytery, 
since  to  the  General  Assembly  alone,  as  represent- 
ing the  invisible  head  of  the  kirk,  belonged  the 
sole  and  exclusive  right  of  regulating  whatever  per- 
tained to  public  worship.  Very  many  also,  of  differ- 
ent political  or  religious  sentiments,  and  therefore 
not  much  moved  by  these  considerations,  thought 
they  saw,  in  so  violent  an  act  of  parliament,  a more 
vindictive  spirit  than  became  the  legislature  of  a 


278 


TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 


great  country,  and  something  like  an  attempt  to  tram* 
pie  upon  the  rights  and  independence  of  Scotland. 
The  various  steps  adopted  for  punishing  the  city  of 
Edinburgh,  by  taking  away  her  charter  and  liber- 
ties, for  what  a violent  and  over-mastering  mob 
had  done  within  her  walls,  were  resented  by  many, 
who  thought  a pretext  was  too  hastily  taken  for 
degrading  the  ancient  metropolis  of  Scotland.  In 
short,  there  was  much  heart-burning,  discontent, 
and  disaffection,  occasioned  by  these  ill-considered 
measures.1 

Amidst  these  heats  and  dissensions,  the  trial  of 
Effie  Deans,  after  she  had  been  many  weeks  impris- 
oned, was  at  length  about  to  be  brought  forward, 
and  Mr.  Middleburgh  found  leisure  to  enquire  into 
the  evidence  concerning  her.  For  this  purpose,  he 
chose  a fine  day  for  his  walk  towards  her  father’s 
house. 

, The  excursion  into  the  country  was  somewhat 
distant,  in  the  opinion  of  a burgess  of  those  days, 
although  many  of  the  present  inhabit  suburban 
villas  considerably  beyond  the  spot  to  which  we 
allude.  Three  quarters  of  an  hour’s  walk,  however,  . 
even  at  a pace  of  magisterial  gravity,  conducted  our 
benevolent  office-bearer  to  the  Crags  of  St.  Leon-  ' 
ard’s  and  the  humble  mansion  of  David  Deans. 

1 The  Magistrates  were  closely  interrogated  before  the  House 
of  Peers,  concerning  the  particulars  of  the  Mob,  and  the  patois 
in  which  these  functionaries  made  their  answers,  sounded  strange 
in  the  ears  of  the  Southern  nobles.  The  Duke  of  Newcastle  hav- 
ing demanded  to  know  with  what  kind  of  shot  the  guard  which 
Porteous  commanded  had  loaded  their  muskets,  was  answered 
naively,  “ Ow,  just  sic  as  ane  shoots  dukes  and  fools  with.”  This 
reply  was  considered  as  a contempt  of  the  House  of  Lords,  and  the 
Provost  would  have  suffered  accordingly,  but  that  the  Duke  of 
Argyle  explained,  that  the  expression,  properly  rendered  into 
English,  meant  ducks  and  water fowl* 


THE  HEART  OE  MID-LOTHIAN.  279 

The  old  man  was  seated  on  the  deas,  or  turf-seat, 
at  the  end  of  his  cottage,  busied  in  mending  his 
cart-harness  with  his  own  hands  ; for  in  thqse  days 
any  sort  of  labour  which  required  a little  mtare  skill 
than  usual  fell  to  the  share  of  the  goodman  himself, 
and  that  even  when  he  was  well  to  pass  in  the  world. 
With  stern  and  austere  gravity  he  persevered  in  his 
task,  after  having  just  raised  his  head  to  notice  the 
advance  of  the  stranger.  It  would  have  been  im- 
possible to  have  discovered,  from  his  countenance 
and  manner,  the  internal  feelings  of  agony  with 
which  he  contended.  Mr.  Middleburgh  waited  an 
•instant,  expecting  Deans  would  in  some  measure 
acknowledge  his  presence,  and  lead  into  conversa- 
tion ; but,  as  he  seemed  determined  to  remain 
silent,  he  was  himself  obliged  to  speak  first. 

“ My  name  is  Middleburgh  — Mr  James  Middle- 
burgh, one  of  the  present  magistrates  of  the  city  of 
Edinburgh.” 

“ It  may  be  sae,”  answered  Deans  laconically, 
and  without  interrupting  his  labour. 

“ You  must  understand,”  he  continued,  “ that  the 
duty  of  a magistrate  is  sometimes  an  unpleasant 
one.” 

“ It  may  be  sae,”  replied  David ; “I  hae  naething 
to  say  in  the  contrair ; ” and  he  was  again  doggedly 
silent.  \ ( • 

“You  must  be  aware,”  pursued  the  magistrate, 
“ that  persons  in  my  situation  are  often  obliged  to 
make  painful  and  disagreeable  enquiries  of  indivi- 
duals, merely  because  it  is  their  bounden  duty.” 

“ It  may  be  sae,”  again  replied  Deans  ; “ I hae 
naething  to  say  anent  it,  either  the  tae  way  or  the 
t’other.  But  I do  ken  there  was  ance  in  a day  a 
just  and  God-fearing  magistracy  in  yon  town  oT 


280 


TALES  OE  MY  LANDLORD. 


Edinburgh,  that  did  not  bear  the  sword  in  vain,  but 
were  a terror  to  evil-doers,  and  a praise  to  such  as 
kept  the  path.  In  the  glorious  days  of  auld  worthy 
faithfu’  Provost  Dick, 1 when  there  was  a true  and 
faithfu’  General  Assembly  of  the  Kirk,  walking  hand 
in  hand  with  the  real  noble  Scottish-hearted  barons, 
and  with  the  magistrates  of  this  and  other  towns, 
gentles,  burgesses,  and  commons  of  all  ranks,  seeing 
with  one  eye,  hearing  with  one  ear,  and  upholding 
the  ark  with  their  united  strength  — And  then  folk 
might  see  men  deliver  up  their  silver  to  the  states* 
use,  as  if  it  had  been  as  muckle  sclate  stanes.  My 
father  saw  them  toom  the  sacks  of  dollars  out  o’ 
Provost  Dick’s  window  intill  the  carts  that  carried 
them  to  the  army  at  Dunse  Law  ; and  if  ye  winna 
believe  his  testimony,  there  is  the  window  itsell  still 
standing  in  the  Luckenbooths  — I think  it’s  a claith- 
merchant’s  booth  the  day  2 — at  the  airn  stanchells, 
five  doors  abune  Gossford’s  Close.  — But  now  we 
haena  sic  spirit  amang  us we  think  mair  about  the 
warst  wally-draigle  in  our  ain  byre,  than  about  the 
blessing  which  the  angel  of  the  covenant  gave  to 
the  Patriarch  even  at  Peniel  and  Mahanaim,  or  the 
binding  obligation  of  our  national  vows ; and  we  wad 
rather  gie  a pund  Scots  to  buy  an  unguent  to  clear 
our  auld  rannell-trees  and  our  beds  o’  the  English 
bugs  as  they  ca’  them,  than  we  wad  gie  a plack  to  \ 
rid  the  land  of  the  swarm  of  Arminian  caterpillars, 
Socinian  pismires,  and  deistical  Miss  Katies,  that 
have  ascended  out  of  the  bottomless  pit,  to  plague 
this  perverse,  insidious,  and  lukewarm  generation.” 

It  happened  to  Davie  Deans  on  this  occasion  as 

1 Note  XII.  — Sir  William  Dick  of  Braid. 

a I think  so  too  — But  if  the  reader  be  curious,  he  may  cou 
suit  Mr  Chambers’  Traditions  of  Edinburgh. 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN.  281 

it  has  done  to  many  other  habitual  orators ; when 
once  he  became  embarked  on  liis  favourite  subject, 
the  stream  of  his  own  enthusiasm  carried  him  for- 
ward in  spite  of  his  mental  distress,  while  his  well- 
exercised  memory  supplied  him  amply  with  all  the 
types  and  tropes  of  rhetoric  peculiar  to  his  sect  and 
cause. 

Mr.  Middleburgh  contented  himself  with  answer 
ing  — “ All  this  may  be  very  true,  my  friend  ; but 
as  you  said  just  now,  I have  nothing  to  say  to  it  at 
present,  either  one  way  or  other.  — You  have  two 
daughters,  I think,  Mr.  Deans  ? ” 

The  old  man  winced,  as  one  whose  smarting  sore 
is  suddenly  galled  ; but  instantly  composed  himself, 
resumed  the  work  which,  in  the  heat  of  his  decla- 
mation, he  had  laid  down,  and  answered  with  sullen 
resolution,  “ Ae  daughter,  sir  — - only  ane  .” 

“ I understand  you,”  said  Mr.  Middleburgh  ; “ you 
have  only  one  daughter  here  at  home  with  you  — 
but  this  unfortunate  girl  who  is  a prisoner  — she  is, 
I think,  your  youngest  daughter  ? ” 

The  presbyterian  sternly  raised  his  eyes.  “ After 
the  world,  and  according  to  the  flesh,  she  is  my 
daughter ; but  when  she  became  a child  of  Belial, 
and  a company-keeper,  and  a trader  in  guilt  and 
iniquity,  she  ceased  to  be  a bairn  of  mine.” 

“Alas,  Mr.  Deans,”  said  Middleburgh,  sitting 
down  by  him,  and  endeavouring  to  take  his  hand, 
which  the  old  man  proudly  withdrew,  “ we  are  our- 
selves all  sinners  ; and  the  errors  of  our  offspring, 
as  they  ought  not  to  surprise  us,  being  the  portion 
which  they  derive  of  a common  portion  of  cor- 
ruption inherited  through  us,  so  they  do  not  en- 
title us  to  cast  them  off  because  they  have  lost 
themselves.” 


282 


TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 


“ Sir,”  said  Deans,  impatiently,  “ I ken  a'  that  as 
weel  as  — I mean  to  say,”  he  resumed,  checking  the 
irritation  he  felt  at  being  schooled,  — a discipline  of 
the  mind,  which  those  most  ready  to  bestow  it  on 
others,  do  themselves  most  reluctantly  submit  to 
receive  — “ I mean  to  say,  that  what  ye  observe  may 
be  just  and  reasonable  — But  I hae  nae  freedom  to 
enter  into  my  ain  private  affairs  wi’  strangers  — 
And  now,  in  this  great  national  emergency,  when 
there’s  the  Porteous’  Act  has  come  doun  frae  Lon- 
don, that  is  a deeper  blow  to  this  poor  sinfu’  king- 
dom and  suffering  kirk,  than  ony  that  has  been 
heard  of  since  the  foul  and  fatal  Test  — at  a time 
like  this  ” 

“ But,  goodman,”  interrupted  Mr.  Middleburgh, 

“ you  must  think  of  your  own  household  first,  or  ] 
else  you  are  worse  even  than  the  infidels.” 

“I  tell  ye,  Bailie  Middleburgh,”  retorted  David ■ 
Deans,  “if  ye  be  a bailie,  as  there  is  little  honour' 
in  being  ane  in  these  evil  days  — I tell  ye,  I heard 
the  gracious  Saunders  Peden  — I wotna  whan  it 
was  ; but  it  was  in  killing  time,  when  the  plowers 
were  drawing  alang  their  furrows  on  the  back  of 
the  Kirk  of  Scotland  — I heard  him  tell  his  hearers, 
gude  and  waled  Christians  they  were  too,  that  some: 
o’  them  wad  greet  mair  for  a bit  drowned  calf  or: 
stirk,  than  for  a’  the  defections  and  oppressions  oft 
the  day ; and  that  they  were  some  o’  them  thinking 
o’  ae  thing,  some  o’  anither,  and  there  was  Lady 
Hundleslope  thinking  o’  greeting  Jock  at  the  fire- 
side ! And  the  lady  confessed  in  my  hearing,  that 
a drow  of  anxiety  had  come  ower  her  for  her  son 
that  she  had  left  at  hame  weak  of  a decay 1 — And 
what  wad  he  hae  said  of  me,  if  I had  ceased  to  think 
1 See  Life  of  Peden;  p.  111. 


THE  HEART  OE  MID-LOTHIAN.  283 

of  the  glide  cause  for  a cast-away  — a — It  kills  me 

to  think  of  what  she  is  ! ” 

“ But  the  life  of  your  child,  goodman  — think  of 
that  — if  her  life  could  be  saved,”  said  Middleburgh. 

“ Her  life  ? ” exclaimed  David  — “ I wadna  gie  ane 
o’  my  grey  hairs  for  her  life,  if  her  gude  name  be 
gane  — And  yet,”  said  he,  relenting  and  retracting 
as  he  spoke,  “ I wad  make  the  niffer,  Mr.  Middle- 
burgh — I wad  gie  a’  these  grey  hairs  that  she  has 
brought  to  shame  and  sorrow  — I wad  gie  the  auld 
head  they  grow  on  for  her  life,  and  that  she  might 
hae  time  to  amend  and  return,  for  what  hae  the 
wicked  beyond  the  breath  of  their  nosthrils  ? — But 
I’ll  never  see  her  mair.  — No  ! — that  — that  I am 
determined  in  — I’ll  never  see  her  mair  ! ” His  lips 
continued  to  move  for  a minute  after  his  voice  ceased 
to  be  heard,  as  if  he  were  repeating  the  same  vow 
internally. 

“Well,  sir,”  said  Mr.  Middleburgh,  “I  speak  to 
you  as  a man  of  sense ; if  you  would  save  your 
daughter’s  life,  you  must  use  human  means.” 

“ I understand  what  you  mean ; but  Mr.  Novit, 
who  is  the  procurator  and  doer  of  an  honourable 
person,  the  Laird  of  Dumbiedikes,  is  to  do  what 
carnal  wisdom  can  do  for  her  in  the  circumstances. 
Mysell  am  not  clear  to  trinquet  and  traffic  wi’ 
courts  0’  justice,  as  they  are  now  constituted ; I have 
a tenderness  and  scruple  in  my  mind  anent  them.” 
“That  is  to  say,”  said  Middleburgh,  “that  you 
are  a and  do  not  acknowledge  the 

authority  of  our  courts  of  judicature,  or  present 
government  ? ” 

“ Sir,  under  your  favour,”  replied  David,  who  was 
too  proud  of  his  own  polemical  knowledge,  to  call 
himself  the  follower  of  any  one,  “ye  take  me  up 


284 


TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 


before  I fall  down.  I canna  see  why  I suld  be 
termed  a Cameronian,  especially  now  that  ye  hae 
given  the  that  famous  and  savoury  sufferer, 

not  only  until  a regimental  band  of  souldiers,  whereof 
I am  told  many  can  now  curse,  swear,  and  use  pro- 
fane language,  as  fast  as  ever  Richard  Cameron 
could  preach  or  pray  ; but  also  because  ye  have,  in 
as  far  as  it  is  in  your  power,  rendered  that  martyr’s 
name  vain  and  contemptible,  by  pipes,  drums,  and 
fifes,  playing  the  vain  carnal  spring,  called  the  Cam- 
eronian Rant,  which  too  many  professors  of  religion 
dance  to  — a practice  maist  unbecoming  a professor 
to  dance  to  any  tune  whatsoever,  more  especially 
promiscuously,  that  is,  with  the  female  sex.1  A 
brutish  fashion  it  'is,  whilk  is  the  beginning  of 
defection  with  many,  as  I may  hae  as  muckle  cause 
as  maist  folk  to  testify.” 

“Well,  but,  Mr.  Deans,”  replied  Mr.  Middleburgh, 
“ I only  meant  to  say  that  you  were  a Cameronian, 
or  MacMillanite,  one  of  the  society  people,  in  short, 
who  think  it  inconsistent  to  take  oaths  under  a 
government  where  the  Covenant  is  not  ratified.” 

“ Sir,”  replied  the  controversialist,  who  forgot 
even  his  present  distress  in  such  discussions  as  these, 
“ you  cannot  fickle  me  sae  easily  as  you  do  opine. 
I am  not  a MacMillanite,  (jo)  or  a Russelite,  ora 
Hamiltonian,  or  a Harleyite,  or  a Howdenite 2 — I 
will  be  led  by  the  nose  by  none  — I take  my  name 
as  a Christian  from  no  vessel  of  clay.  I have  my 
own  principles  and  practice  to  answer  for,  and  am 
an  humble  pleader  for  the  cnide  auld  cause  in  a 


“ That  is  to  say,  Mr.  Deans,”  said  Middleburgh, 

1 Note  Y. 

2 All  various  species  of  the  great  genus  Cameronian. 


legal  way.” 


THE  HEART  OE  MID-LOTHIAN.  285 

:<  that  you  are  a Dcanite , and  have  opinions  pecu- 
liar to  yourself.” 

“It  may  please  you  to  say  sae,”  said  David 
Deans  ; “ but  I have  maintained  my  testimony  be- 
fore  as  great  folk,  and  in  sharper  times ; and  though 
I will  neither  exalt  myself  nor  pull  down  others,  I 
wish  every  man  and  woman  in  this  land  had  kept 
the  true  testimony,  and  the  middle  and  straight 
path,  as  it  were,  on  the  ridge  of  a hill,  where  wind 
and  water  shears,  avoiding  right-hand  snares  and 
extremes,  and  left-hand  way-slidings,  as  weel  as 
Johnny  Dodds  of  Farthings  Acre,  and  ae  man  mair 
that  shall  be  nameless.” 

“I  suppose,”  replied  the  magistrate,  “that  is  as 
much  as  to  say,  that  Johnny  Dodds  of  Farthing’s 
Acre,  and  David  Deans  of  St.  Leonard’s,  constitute 
the  only  members  of  the  true,  real,  unsophisticated 
Kirk  of  Scotland?” 

“God  forbid  that  I suld  make  sic  a vain-glorious 
speech,  when  there  are  sae  mony  professing  Chris- 
tians !”  answered  David  ; “ but  this  I maun  say,  that 
all  men  act  according  to  their  gifts  and  their  grace, 
sae  that  it  is  nae  marvel  that” 

“ This  is  all  very  fine,”  interrupted  Mr.  Middle- 
burgh  ; “ but  I have  no  time  to  spend  in  hearing 
it.  The  matter  in  hand  is  this  • — I have  directed  a 
citation  to  be  lodged  in  your  daughter’s  hands  — If 
she  appears  on  the  day  of  trial  and  gives  evidence, 
there  is  reason  to  hope  she  may  save  her  sister’s 
life  — if,  from  any  constrained  scruples  about  the 
legality  of  her  performing  the  office  of  an  affection- 
ate sister  and  a good  subject,  by  appearing  in  a court 
held  under  the  authority  of  the  law  and  govern- 
ment, you  become  the  means  of  deterring  her  from 
the  discharge  of  this  duty,  I must  say,  though  the 


286 


TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 


truth  may  sound  harsh  in  your  ears,  that  you,  who 
gave  life  to  this  unhappy  girl,  will  become  the 
means  of  her  losing  it  by  a premature  and  violent 
death.” 

So  saying,  Mr.  Middleburgh  turned  to  leave  him. 
“ Bide  awee  — bide  awee,  Mr.  Middleburgh,”  said 
Deans,  in  great  perplexity  and  distress  of  mind ; 
but  the  Bailie,  who  was  probably  sensible  that  pro- 
tracted discussion  might  diminish  the  effect  of  his 
best  and  most  forcible  argument,  took  a hasty  leave, 
and  declined  entering  farther  into  the  controversy. 

Deans  sunk  down  upon  his  seat,  stunned  with  a 
variety  of  conflicting  emotions.  It  had  been  a great 
source  of  controversy  among  those  holding  his 
opinions  in  religious  matters,  how  far  the  govern- 
ment which  succeeded  the  Revolution  could  be, 
without  sin,  acknowledged  by  true  presbyterians, 
seeing  that  it  did  not  recognise  the  great  national 
stimony  of  the  Solemn  League  and  Covenant  ? 


nd  latterly,  those  agreeing  in  this  general  doc- 
trine, and  assuming  the  sounding  title  of  the  anti- 
popish,  anti-prelatic,  anti-erastian,  anti-sectarian, 
true  presbyterian  remnant,  were  divided  into  many 
petty  sects  among  themselves,  even  as  to  the  ex- 
tent of  submission  to  the  existing  laws  and  rulers, 
which  constituted  such  an  acknowledgment  as 
amounted  to  sin. 

At  a very  stormy  and  tumultuous  meeting,  held 
in  1682,  to  discuss  these  important  and  delicate 
points^  the  testimonies  of  the  faithful  few  were 
found  utterly  inconsistent  with  each  other.1  The 
place  where  this  conference  took  place  was  remark- 
ably well  adapted  for  such  an  assembly.  It  was  a 
wild  and  very  sequestered  dell  in  Tweeddale,  sur- 


1 Note  XIII.  — Meeting  at  Talla-Linns. 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN. 


287 


rounded  by  high  hills,  and  far  remote  from  human 
habitation.  A small  river,  or  rather  a mountain 
torrent,  called  the  Talla,  breaks  down  the  glen  with 
great  fury,  dashing  successively  over  a number  of 
small  cascades,  which  has  procured  the.  spot  the 
name  of  Talla-Linns.  Here  the  leaders  among  the 
scattered  adherents  to  the  Covenant,  men  who,  in 
their  banishment  from  human  society,  and  in  the 
recollection  of  the  severities  to  which  they  had  been 
exposed,  had  become  at  once  sullen  in  their  tem- 
pers, and  fantastic  in  their  religious  opinions,  met 
with  arms  in  their  hands,  and  by  the  side  of  the 
torrent  discussed,  with  a turbulence  which  the  noise 
oi  the  stream  could  not  drown,  points  of  contro- 
versy as  empty  and  unsubstantial  as  its  foam. 

It  was  the  fixed  judgment  of  most  of  the  meet-\ 
ing,  that  all  payment  of  cess  or  tribute  to  the  ex- 
isting government  was  utterly  unlawful,  and  a 
sacrificing  to  idols.  About  other  impositions  and  ^ 
degrees  of  submission  there  were  various  opinions ; 
and  perhaps  it  is  the  best  illustration  of  the  spirit 
of  those  military  fathers  of  the  church  to  say,  that 
while  all  allowed  it  was  impious  to  pay  the  cess 
employed  for  maintaining  the  standing  army  and 
militia,  there  was  a fierce  controversy  on  the  law- 
fulness of  paying  the  duties  levied  at  ports  and 
bridges,  for  maintaining  roads  and  other  necessary 
purposes ; that  there  were  some  who,  repugnant  to 
these  imposts  for  turnpikes  and  postages,  were 
nevertheless  free  in  conscience  to  make  payment  of 
the  usual  freight  at  public  ferries,  and  that  a person 
of  exceeding  and  punctilious  zeal,  James  RusseJ, 
one  of  the  slayers  of  the  Archbishop  of  St.  An- 
drews, had  given  his  testimony  with  great  warmth 
even  against  this  last  faint  shade  of  subjection  to 


288 


TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 


constituted  authority.  This  ardent  and  enlightened 
person  and  his  followers  had  also  great  scruples 
about  the  lawfulness  of  bestowing  the  ordinary 
names  upon  the  days  of  the  week  and  the  months 
of  the  year,  which  savoured  in  their  nostrils  so 
strongly  of  paganism,  that  at  length  they  arrived 
at  the  conclusion  that  they  who  owned  such  names 
as  Monday,  Tuesday,  January,  February,  and  so 
forth,  “ served  themselves  heirs  to  the  same,  if  not 
greater  punishment,  than  had  been  denounced 
against  the  idolaters  of  old.” 

David  Deans  had  been  present  on  this  memo- 
rable occasion,  although  too  young  to  be  a speaker 
among  the  polemical  combatants.  His  brain,  how- 
ever, had  been  thoroughly  heated  by  the  noise, 
clamour,  and  metaphysical  ingenuity  of  the  dis- 
cussion, and  it  was  a controversy  to  which  his  mind 
had  often  returned  ; and  though  he  carefully  dis- 
guised his  vacillation  from  others,  and  perhaps 
from  himself,  he  had  never  been  able  to  come  to 
any  precise  line  of  decision  on  the  subject.  In 
fact,  his  natural  sense  had  acted  as  a counterpoise 
to  his  controversial  zeal.  He  was  by  no  means 
pleased  with  the  quiet  and  indifferent  manner  in 
which  King  William’s  government  slurred  over  the 
errors  of  the  times,  when,  far  from  restoring  the 
presbyterian  kirk  to  its  former  supremacy,  they 
passed  an  act  of  oblivion  even  to  those  who  had 
been  its  persecutors,  and  bestowed  on  many  of 
them  titles,  favours,  and  employments.  When,  in 
the  first  General  Assembly  which  succeeded  the 
Revolution,  an  overture  was  made  for  the  revival 
of  the  League  and  Covenant,  it  was  with  horror 
that  Douce  David  heard  the  proposal  eluded  by 
the  men  of  carnal  wit  and  policy,  as  he  called  them 


THE  HEART  OE  MID-LOTHIAN.  289 

as  being  inapplicable  to  the  present  times,  and  not 
falling  under  the  modern  model  of  the  church. 
The  reign  of  Queen  Anne  had  increased  his  con- 
viction, that  the  Revolution  government  was  not 
one  of  the  true  presbyterian  complexion.  But  then, 
more  sensible  than  the  bigots  of  his  sect,  he  did 
not  confound  the  moderation  and  tolerance  of  these 
two  reigns  with  the  active  tyranny  and  oppression 
exercised  in  those  of  Charles  II.  and  James  II. 
The  presbyterian  form  of  religion,  though  deprived 
of  the  weight  formerly  attached  to  its  sentences  of 
excommunication,  and  compelled  to  tolerate  the 
co-existence  of  episcopacy,  and  of  sects  of  vari- 
ous descriptions,  was  still  the  National  Church ; 
and  though  the  glory  of  the  second  temple  was  far 
inferior  to  that  which  had  flourished  from  1639  till 
the  battle  of  Dunbar,  still  it  was  a structure  that, 
wanting  the  strength  and  the  terrors,  retained  at 
least  the  form  and  symmetry,  of  the  original  model. 
Then  came  the  insurrection  in  1715,  and  David 
Deans’s  horror  for  the  revival  of  the  popish  and 
prelatical  faction  reconciled  him  greatly  to  the 
government  of  King  George,  although  he  grieved 
that  that  monarch  might  be  suspected  of  a leaning 
unto  Erastianism.  In  short,  moved  by  so  many 
different  considerations,  he  had  shifted  his  ground 
at  different  times  concerning  the  degree  of  freedom 
which  he  felt  in  adopting  any  act  of  immediate 
acknowledgment  or  submission  to  the  present  gov- 
ernment, which,  however  mild  and  paternal,  was 
still  uncovenanted ; and  now  he  felt  himself  called 
upon  by  the  most  powerful  motive  conceivable,  to 
authorize  his  daughter’s  giving  testimony  in  a court 
of  justice,  which  all  who  have  been  since  called 
Cameronians  accounted  a step  of  lamentable  and 


290  TALES  0E  MY  LANDLORD. 

direct  defection.  The  voice  of  nature,  however, 
exclaimed  loud  in  his  bosom  against  the  dictates  of 
fanaticism ; and  his  imagination,  fertile  in  the 
solution  of  polemical  difficulties,  devised  an  ex- 
pedient for  extricating  himself  from  the  fearful 
dilemma,  in  which  he  saw,  on  the  one  side,  a falling 
off  from  principle,  and,  on  the  other,  a scene  from 
which  a father’s  thoughts  could  not  but  turn  in 
shuddering  horror. 

“ I have  been  constant  and  unchanged  in  my 
testimony,”  said  David  Deans ; “ but  then  who  has 
said  it  of  me,  that  I have  judged  my  neighbour  over 
closely,  because  he  hath  had  more  freedom  in  his 
walk  than  I have  found  in  mine  ? I never  was  a 
separatist,  nor  for  quarrelling  with  tender  souls 
about  mint,  cummin,  or  other  the  lesser  tithes. 
My  daughter  Jean  may  have  a light  in  this  sub- 
ject that  is  hid  frae  my  auld  een  — it  is  laid  on  her 
conscience,  and  not  on  mine  — If  she  hath  freedom 
to  gang  before  this  judicatory,  and  hold  up  her  hand 
for  this  poor  cast-away,  surely  I will  not  say  she 

steppeth  over  her  bounds ; and  if  not  ” He 

paused  in  his  mental  argument,  while  a pang  of 
unutterable  anguish  convulsed  his  features,  yet, 
shaking  it  off,  he  firmly  resumed  the  strain  of  his 
reasoning  — “And  if  not  — God  forbid  that  she 
should  go  into  defection  at  bidding  of  mine ! I 
wunna  fret  the  tender  conscience  of  one  bairn  — 
no,  not  to  save  the  life  of  the  other.” 

A Roman  would  have  devoted  his  daughter  to 
death  from  different  feelings  and  motives,  but  not 
upon  a more  heroic  principle  of  duty. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 


To  man,  in  this  his  trial  state, 

The  privilege  is  given, 

When  tost  by  tides  of  human  fate, 

To  anchor  fast  on  heaven. 

Watts’s  Hymns. 


It  was  with  a firm  step  that  Deans  sought  his 
daughter’s  apartment,  determined  to  leave  her  to 
the  light  of  her  own  conscience  in  the  dubious 
point  of  casuistry  in' which  he  supposed  her  to  be 
placed. 

The  little  room  had  been  the  sleeping  apartment 
of  both  sisters,  and  there  still  stood  there  a small 
occasional  bed  which  had  been  made  for  Effie’s 
accommodation,  when,  complaining  of  illness,  she 
had  declined  to  share,  as  in  happier  times,  her  sis- 
ter’s pillow.  The  eyes  of  Deans  rested  involun- 
tarily, on  entering  thq  room,  upon  this  little  couch, 
with  its  dark-green  coarse  curtains,  and  the  ideas 
connected  with  it  rose  so  thick  upon  his  soul  as 
almost  to  incapacitate  him  from  opening  his  errand 
to  his  daughter.  Her  occupation  broke  the  ice. 
He  found  her  gazing  on  a slip  of  paper,  which  con- 
tained a citation  to  her  to  appear  as  a witness  upon 
her  sister’s  trial  in  behalf  of  the  accused.  For  the 
worthy  magistrate,  determined  to  omit  no  chance 
of  doing  Effie  justice,  and  to  leave  her  sister  no 
apology  for  not  giving  the  evidence  which  she  was 
supposed  to  possess,  had  caused  the  ordinary  cita- 


292 


TALES  OE  MY  LANDLORD. 


tion,  or  subpoena , of  the  Scottish  criminal  court,  to  he 
served  upon  her  by  an  officer  during  his  conference 
with  David. 

This  precaution  was  so  far  favourable  to  Deans, 
that  it  saved  him  the  pain  of  entering  upon  a 
formal  explanation  with  his  daughter ; he  only  said, 
with  a hollow  and  tremulous  voice,  “ I perceive  ye 
are  aware  of  the  matter.” 

“0  father,  we  are  cruelly  sted  between  God's 
laws  and  man's  laws  — What  shall  we  do  ? — What 
can  we  do  ? ” 

Jeanie,  it  must  be  observed,  had  no  hesitation 
whatever  about  the  mere  act  of  appearing  in  a court 
of  justice.  She  might  have  heard  the  point  dis- 
cussed by  her  father  more  than  once ; but  we  have 
already  noticed,  that  she  was  accustomed  to  listen 
with  reverence  to  much  which  she  was  incapable  of 
understanding,  and  that  subtle  arguments  of  casuis- 
try found  her  a patient,  but  unedified  hearer.  Upon 
receiving  the  citation,  therefore,  her  thoughts  did  not 
turn  upon  the  chimerical  scruples  which  alarmed  her 
father's  mind,  but  to  the  language  which  had  been 
held  to  her  by  the  stranger  at  Muschat's  Cairn.  In 
a word,  she  never  doubted  but  she  was  to  be  dragged 
forward  into  the  court  of  justice,  in  order  to  place 
her  in  the  cruel  position  of  either  sacrificing  her 
sister  by  telling  the  truth,  or  committing  perjury 
in  order  to  save  her  life.  And  so  strongly  did  her 
thoughts  run  in  this  channel,  that  she  applied  her 
father's  words,  “ Ye  are  aware  of  the  matter,''  to  his 
acquaintance  with  the  advice  that  had  been  so  fear- 
fully enforced  upon  her.  She  looked  up  with  anx- 
ious surprise,  not  unmingled  with  a cast  of  horror, 
which  his  next  words,  as  she  interpreted  and  applied 
Jffiem,  were  not  qualified  to  remove. 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN. 


293 


“ Daughter,”  said  David,  “it  has  ever  been  my 
mind,  that  in  things  of  ane  doubtful  and  contro- 
versial nature,  ilk  Christian’s  conscience  suld  be  his 
ain  guide  — Wherefore  descend  into  yourself,  try 
your  ain  mind  with  sufficiency  of  soul  exercise,  and 
as  you  sail  finally  find  yourself  clear  to  do  in  this 
matter  — even  so  be  it.” 

“ But,  father,”  said  Jeanie,  whose  mind  revolted 
at  the  construction  which  she  naturally  put  upon 
his  language,  “ can  this  — this  be  a doubtful  or  con- 
troversial matter  ? — Mind,  father,  the  ninth  com- 
mand — ‘ Thou  shalt  not  bear  false  witness  against 
thy  neighbour.’  ” 

David  Deans  paused ; for,  still  applying  her 
speech  to  his  preconceived  difficulties,  it  seemed 
to  him,  as  if  she , a woman,  and  a sister,  was  scarce 
entitled  to  be  scrupulous  upon  this  occasion,  where 
he,  a man,  exercised  in  the  testimonies  of  that  testi- 
fying period,  had  given  indirect  countenance  to  her 
following  what  must  have  been  the  natural  dictates 
of  her  own  feelings.  But  he  kept  firm  his  purpose, 
until  his  eyes  involuntarily  rested  upon  the  little 
settle-bed,  and  recalled  the  form  of  the  child  of  his 
old  age,  as  she  sate  upon  it,  pale,  emaciated,  and 
broken-hearted.  His  mind,  as  the  picture  arose 
before  him,  involuntarily  conceived,  and  his  tongue 
involuntarily  uttered  — but  in  a tone  how  different 
from  his  usual  dogmatical  precision!  — arguments 
for  the  course  of  conduct  likely  to  ensure  his  child’s 
safety. 

“ Daughter,”  he  said,  " I did  not  say  that  your 
path  was  free  from  stumbling  — and,  questionless, 
this  act  may  be  in  the  opinion  of  some  a transgres- 
sion, since  he  who  beareth  witness  unlawfully,  and 
against  his  conscience,  doth  in  some  sort  bear  false 


294 


TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD, 


witness  against  his  neighbour.  Yet  in  matters  of 
compliance,  the  guilt  lieth  not  in  the  compliance 
sae  muckle,  as  in  the  mind  and  conscience  of  him 
that  doth  comply ; and,  therefore,  although  my 
testimony  hath  not  been  spared  upon  public  de- 
fections, I haena  felt  freedom  to  separate  mysell 
from  the  communion  of  many  who  have  been  clear 
to  hear  those  ministers  who  have  taken  the  fatal 
indulgence,  because  they  might  get  good  of  them, 
though  I could  not  ” 

When  David  had  proceeded  thus  far,  his  con- 
science reproved  him,  that  he  might  be  indirectly 
undermining  the  purity  of  his  daughter's  faith, 
and  smoothing  the  way  for  her  falling  off  from 
strictness  of  principle.  He,  therefore,  suddenly 
stopped,  and  changed  his  tone: — “Jeanie,  I per- 
ceive that  our  vile  affections,  — so  I call  them  in 
respect  of  doing  the  will  of  our  Father,  — cling  too 
heavily  to  me  in  this  hour  of  trying  sorrow,  to  per- 
mit me  to  keep  sight  of  my  ain  duty,  or  to  airt  you 
to  yours.  I will  speak  nae  mair  anent  this  over- 
trying matter. — Jeanie,  if  ye  can,  wi’  God  and  gude 
conscience,  speak  in  favour  of  this  puir  unhappy  ” — 
(here  his  voice  faltered)  — “ She  is  your  sister  in  the 
flesh  — worthless  and  cast-away  as  she  is,  she  is  the 
daughter  of  a saint  in  heaven,  that  was  a mother  to 
you,  Jeanie,  in  place  of  your  ain  — but  if  ye  arena 
free  in  conscience  to  speak  for  her  in  the  court  of 
judicature,  follow  your  conscience,  Jeanie,  and  let 
God’s  will  be  done.”  After  this  adjuration  he  left 
the  apartment,  and  his  daughter  remained  in  a state 
of  great  distress  and  perplexity. 

It  would  have  been  no  small  addition  to  the 
sorrows  of  David  Deans,  even  in  this  extremity  of 
suffering  had  he  known  that  his  daughter  was  ap- 


THE  HEART  OE  MID-LOTIIIAN. 


295 


plying  the  casuistical  arguments  which  he  had  been 
using,  not  in  the  sense  of  a permission  to  follow  her 
own  opinion  on  a dubious  and  disputed  point  of  con- 
troversy, but  rather  as  an  encouragement  to  trans- 
gress one  of  those  divine  commandments  which 
Christians  of  all  sects  and  denominations  unite  in 
holding  ipost  sacred. 

“ Can  this  be  ? ” said  J eanie,  as  the  door  closed  on 
her  father  — “ Can  these  be  his  words  that  I have 
heard,  or  has  the  Enemy  taken  his  voice  and  fea- 
tures to  give  weight  unto  the  counsel  which  causeth 
to  perish  ? — A sister’s  life,  and  a father  pointing 
out  how  to  save  it  * — 0 God  deliver  me  ! — this  is 
a fearfu*  temptation.” 

Roaming  from  thought  to  thought,  she  at  one 
time  imagined  her  father  understood  the  ninth 
commandment  literally,  as  prohibiting  false  wit- 
ness against  our  neighbour,  without  extending  the 
denunciation  against  falsehood  uttered  in  favour 
of  the  criminal.  But  her  clear  and  unsophisticated 
power  of  discriminating  between  good  and  evil,  in- 
stantly rejected  an  interpretation  so  limited,  and  so 
unworthy  of  the  Author  of  the  law.  She  remained 
in  a state  of  the  most  agitating  terror  and  uncer- 
tainty — afraid  to  communicate  her  thoughts  freely 
to  her  father,  lest  she  should  draw  forth  an  opinion 
with  which  she  could  not  comply,  — wrung  with 
distress  on  her  sister’s  account,  rendered  the  more 
acute  by  reflecting  - that  the  means  of  saving  her 
were  in  her  power,  but  were  such  as  her  conscience 
prohibited  her  from  using,  — tossed,  in  short,  like  a 
vessel  in  an  open  roadstead  during  a storm,  and, 
like  that  vessel,  resting  on  one  only  sure  cable  and 
anchor,  — faith  in  Providence,  and  a resolution  to 
discharge  her  duty. 


296 


TALES  OE  MY  LANDLORD. 


Butler’s  affection  and  strong  sensei  of  religion 
would  have  been  her  principal  support  in  these  dis- 
tressing circumstances,  but  he  was  still  under  re- 
straint, which  did  not  permit  him  to  come  to  St. 
Leonard’s  Crags ; and  her  distresses  were  of  a na- 
ture, which,  with  her  indifferent  habits  of  scholar- 
ship, she  found  it  impossible  to  express  in  writing. 
She  was  therefore  compelled  to  trust  for  guidance  to 
her  own  unassisted  sense  of  what  was  right  or  wrong. 

It  was  not  the  least  of  Jeanie’s  distresses,  that, 
although  she  hoped  and  believed  her  sister  to  be 
innocent,  she  had  not  the  means  of  receiving  that 
assurance  from  her  own  mouth. 

The  double-dealing  of  Ratcliffe  in  the  matter  of 
Robertson  had  not  prevented  his  being  rewarded, 
as  double-dealers  frequently  have  been,  with  favour 
and  preferment.  Sharpitlaw,  who  found  in  him  some- 
thing of  a kindred  genius,  had  been  intercessor  in 
his  behalf  with  the  magistrates,  emd  the  circumstance 
of  his  having  voluntarily  remained  in  the  prison, 
when  the  doors  were  forced  by  the  mob,  would 
have  made  it  a hard  measure  to  take  the  life  which 
he  had  such  easy  means  of  saving.  He  received  a 
full  pardon  ; and  soon  afterwards,  James  Ratcliffe, 
the  greatest  thief  and  housebreaker  in  Scotland, 
was,  upon  the  faith,  perhaps,,  of  an  ancient  proverb, 
selected  as  a person  to  be  intrusted  with  the  custody 
of  other  delinquents. 

When  Ratcliffe  was  thus  placed  in  a confidential 
situation,  he  was  repeatedly  applied  to  by  the  sapi- 
ent Saddletree  and  others,  who  took  some  interest 
in  the  Deans’  family,  to  procure  an  interview  be- 
tween the  sisters  ; but  the  magistrates,  who  were 
extremely  anxious  for  the  apprehension  of  Robert- 
son, had  given  strict  orders  to  the  contrary,  hoping 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN. 


297 


that,  by  keeping  them  separate,  they  might,  from 
the  one  or  the  other,  extract  some  information 
respecting  that  fugitive.  On  this  subject  Jeanie  had 
nothing  to  tell  them:  She  informed  Mr.  Middle- 

burgh,  that  she  knew  nothing  of  Robertson,  except 
having  met  him  that  night  by  appointment  to  give 
her  some  advice  respecting  her  sister’s  concern,  the 
purport  of  which,  she  said,  was  betwixt  God  and 
her  conscience.  Of  his  motions,  purposes,  or  plans, 
past,  present,  or  future,  she  knew  nothing,  and  so 
had  nothing  to  communicate. 

Effie  was  equally  silent,  though  from  a different 
cause.  It  was  in  vain  that  they  offered  a commu- 
tation and  alleviation  of  her  punishment,  and  even 
a free  pardon,  if  she  would  confess  what  she  knew 
of  her  lover.  She  answered  only  with  tears  ; unless, 
when  at  times  driven  into  pettish  sulkiness  by  the 
persecution  of  the  interrogators,  she  made  them 
abrupt  and  disrespectful  answers. 

At  length,  after  her  trial  had  been  delayed  for 
many  weeks,  in  hopes  she  might  be  induced  to 
speak  out  on  a subject  infinitely  more  interesting 
to  the  magistracy  than  her  own  guilt  or  innocence, 
their  patience  was  worn  out,  and  even  Mr.  Middle- 
burgh  finding  no  ear  lent  to  further  intercession  in 
her  behalf,  the  day  was  fixed  for  the  trial  to 
proceed. 

It  was  now,  and  not  sooner,  that  Sharpitlaw,  re-, 
collecting  his  promise  to  Effie  Deans,  or  rather 
being  dinned  into  compliance  by  the  unceasing  re- 
monstrances of  Mrs.  Saddletree,  who  was  his  next- 
door  neighbour,  and  who  declared  it  was  heathen 
cruelty  to  keep  the  twa  broken-hearted  creatures 
separate,  issued  the  important  mandate,  permitting 
them  to  see  each  other. 


TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 


298 

O11  the  evening  which  preceded  the  eventful  day 
of  trial,  Jeanie  was  permitted  to  see  her  sister  — an 
awful  interview,  and  occurring  at  a most  distressing 
crisis.  This,  however,  formed  a part  of  the  bitter 
cup  which  she  was  doomed  to  drink,  to  atone  for 
crimes  and  follies  to  which  she  had  no  accession ; 
and  at  twelve  o’clock  noon,  being  the  time  appointed 
for  admission  to  the  jail,  she  went  to  meet,  for  the 
first  time  for  several  months,  her  guilty,  erring,  and 
most  miserable  sister,  in  that  abode  of  guilt,  error, 
and  utter  misery. 


CHAPTER  XX. 


Sweet  sister,  let  me  live  ! 

What  sin  you  do  to  save  a brother’s  life, 

Nature  dispenses  with  the  deed  so  far, 

That  it  becomes  a virtue. 

Measure  for  Measure . 

Jeanie  Deans  was  admitted  into  the  jail  by  Eat- 
cliffe.  This  fellow,  as  void  of  shame  as  of  honesty, 
as  he  opened  the  now  trebly  secured  door,  asked  her, 
with  a leer  which  made  her  shudder,  “ whether  she 
remembered  him  ? ” 

A half-pronounced  and  timid  “ No,”  was  her 
answer. 

“ What ! not  remember  moonlight,  and  Muschat’s 
Cairn,  and  Eob  and  Eat  ? ” said  he,  with  the 
same  sneer;  — “ Your  memory  needs  redding  up,  my 

jo.” 

If  Jeanie’s  distresses  had  admitted  of  aggrava- 
tion, it  must  have  been  to  find  her  sister  under  the 
charge  of  such  a profligate  as  this  man.  He  was  not, 
indeed,  without  something  of  good  to  balance  so 
much  that  was  evil  in  his  character  and  habits.  In 
his  misdemeanours  he  had  never  been  bloodthirsty 
or  cruel ; and  in  his  present  occupation,  he  had  shown 
himself,  in  a certain  degree,  accessible  to  touches  of 
humanity.  But  these  good  qualities  were  unknown 
to  Jeanie,  who,  remembering  the  scene  at  Muschat’s 
Cairn,  could  scarce  find  voice  to  acquaint  him,  that 


300  TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 

she  had  an  order  from  Bailie  Middleburgh,  permit* 
ting  her  to  see  her  sister. 

“ I ken  that  fu’  weel,  my  bonny  doo ; mair  by 
token,  I have  a special  charge  to  stay  in  the  ward 
with  you  a’  the  time  ye  are  thegither.” 

“ Must  that  be  sae  ? ” asked  Jeanie,  with  an  im- 
ploring voice. 

“ Hout,  ay,  hinny,”  replied  the  turnkey ; “ and 
what  the  waur  will  you  and  your  titty  be  of  Jim 
Ratcliffe  hearing  what  ye  hae  to  say  to  ilk  other  ? 
— Deil  a word  ye’ll  say  that  will  gar  him  ken  your 
kittle  sex  better  than  he  kens  them  already  ; and 
another  thing  is,  that  if  ye  dinna  speak  o’  breaking 
the  Tolbooth,  deil  a word  will  I tell  ower,  either 
to  do  ye  good  or  ill.” 

Thus  saying,  Ratcliffe  marshalled  her  the  wTay  to 
the  apartment  where  Effie  was  confined. 

Shame,  fear,  and  grief,  had  contended  for  mas- 
tery in  the  poor  prisoner’s  bosom  during  the  whole 
morning,  while  she  had  looked  forward  to  this  meet- 
ing ; but  when  the  door  opened,  all  gave  way  to  a 
confused  and  strange  feeling  that  had  a tinge  of 
joy  in  it,  as,  throwing  herself  on  her  sister’s  neck, 
she  ejaculated,  “ My  dear  Jeanie  ! — my  dear  Jeanie  ! 
it’s  lang  since  I hae  seen  ye.”  Jeanie  returned  the 
embrace  with  an  earnestness  that  partook  almost 
of  rapture,  but  it  was  only  a flitting  emotion,  like 
a sunbeam  unexpectedly  penetrating  betwixt  the 
clouds  of  a tempest,  and  obscured  almost  as  soon 
as  visible.  The  sisters  walked  together  to  the  side 
of  the  pallet  bed,  and  sate  down  side  by  side,  took 
hold  of  each  other’s  hands,  and  looked  each  other 
in  the  face,  but  without  speaking  a word.  In  this 
posture  they  remained  for  a minute,  while  the  gleam 
of  joy  gradually  faded  from  their  features,  and  gave 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN, 


3°i 


way  to  the  most  intense  expression,  first  of  melan- 
choly, and  then  of  agony,  till,  throwing  themselves 
again  into  each  other's  arms,  they,  to  use  the  lan- 
guage of  Scripture,  lifted  up  their  voices  and  wept 
bitterly. 

Even  the  hard-hearted  turnkey,  who  had  spent 
his  life  in  scenes  calculated  to  stifle  both  conscience 
and  feeling,  could  not  witness  this  scene  without 
a touch  of  human  sympathy.  It  was  shown  in  a 
trifling  action,  but  which  had  more  delicacy  in  it 
than  seemed  to  belong  to  Katcliffe’s  character  and 
station.  The  unglazed  window  of  the  miserable 
chamber  was  open,  and  the  beams  of  a bright  sun 
fell  right  upon  the  bed  where  the  sufferers  were 
seated.  With  a gentleness  that  had  something  of 
reverence  in  it,  Katcliffe  partly  closed  the  shutter, 
and  seemed  thus  to  throw  a veil  over  a scene  so 
sorrowful. 

“Ye  are  ill,  Effie,”  were  the  first  words  Jeanie 
could  utter ; “ ye  are  very  ill,'5 

“0,  what  wad  I gie  to  be  ten  times  waur, 
Jeanie  ! ” was  the  reply  — “ what  wad  I gie  to  be 
cauld  dead  afore  the  ten  o’clock  bell  the  morn  ! 
And  our  father — but  I am  his  bairn  nae  langer  now 
— 0,  I hae  nae  friend  left  in  the  warld  ! — 0, 
that  I were  lying  dead  at  my  mother’s  side,  in  New- 
battle  kirkyard ! ” 

“Hout,  lassie,”  said  Katcliffe,  willing  to  show 
the  interest  which  he  absolutely  felt,  “ dinna  be  sae 
dooms  down-hearted  as  a’  that ; there’s  mony  a tod 
hunted  that’s  no  killed.  Advocate  Langtale  has 
brought  folk  through  waur  snappers  than  a’  this, 
and  there’s  no  a cleverer  agent  than  Nichil  Novit 
e’er  drew  a bill  of  suspension.  Hanged  or  unhanged, 
they  are  weel  aff  has  sic  an  agent  and  counsel ; ane’s 


302 


TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD 


sure  o’  fair  play.  Ye  are  a bonny  lass,  too,  an  ye 
wad  busk  up  your  cockernonie  a bit ; and  a bonny 
lass  will  find  favour  wF  judge  and  jury,  when  they 
would  strap  up  a grewsome  carle  like  me  for  the 
fifteenth  part  of  a flea's  hide  and  tallow,  d — n them/* 

To  this  homely  strain  of  consolation  the  mourn- 
ers returned  no  answer  ; indeed,  they  were  so  much 
lost  in  their  own  sorrows  as  to  have  become  insen- 
sible of  Ratcliffe’s  presence.  “ 0 Effie,”  said  her 
elder  sister,  “ how  could  you’  conceal  your  situation 
from  me  ? 0 woman,  had  I deserved  this  at  your 

hand  ? — had  ye  spoke  but  ae  word  — sorry  we 
might  hae  been,  and  shamed  we  might  hae  been, 
but  this  awfu'  dispensation  had  never  come  ower 
us.” 

“ And  what  gude  wad  that  hae  dune  ? ” answered 
the  prisoner.  “ Na,  na,  Jeanie,  a'  was  ower  when 
ance  I forgot  what  I promised  when  I faulded  down 
the  leaf  of  my  Bible  See,”  she  said,  producing 
the  sacred  volume,  “ the  book  opens  aye  at  the  place 
o*  itsell.  0 see,  Jeanie,  what  a fearfu  scripture  ! 

Jeanie  took  her  sister's  Bible,  and  found  that  the 
fatal  mark  was  made  at  this  impressive  text  in  the 
book  of  Job:  “He  hath  stripped  me  of  my  glory, 
and  taken  the  crown  from  my  head  He  hath  de- 
stroyed me  on  every  side,  and  1 am  gone.  And 
mine  hope  hath  he  removed  like  a tree” 

“Isna  that  ower  true  a doctrine  V'  said  the  pri- 
soner — “ Isna  my  crown  my  honour  removed  ? And 
what  am  I but  a poor  wasted,  wan-thriven  tree,  dug 
up  by  the  roots,  and  flung  out  to  waste  in  the  high- 
way, that  man  and  beast  may  tread  it  under  foot  ? 
I thought  o’  the  bonny  bit  thorn  that  our  father 
rooted  out  o'  the  yard  last  May,  when  it  had  a*  the 
flush  o>  blossoms  on  it ; and  then  it  lay  in  the  court 


T1IE  HEART  OE  MID- LOTHIAN 


303 


till  the  beasts  had  trod  them  a’  to  pieces  wi'  their 
feet  I little  thought,  when  I was  wae  for  the  bit 
silly  green  bush  and  its  flowers,  that  1 was  to  gang 
the  same  gate  mysell  ” 

“ O,  if  ye  had  spoken  a word,”  again  sobbed 
Jeanie,  — - “ if  I were  free  to  swear  that  ye  had  said 
but  ae  word  of  how  it  stude  wi*  ye,  they  couldna 
hae  touched  your  life  this  day.  ” 

“ Could  they  na  ? ” said  Effie,  with  something  like 
awakened  interest  — for  life  is  dear  even  to  those 
who  feel  it  as  a burden  — “ Wha  tauld  ye  that, 
Jeanie  ? ” 

“ It  was  ane  that  kend  what  he  was  saying  weel 
eneugh,”  replied  Jeanie,  who  had  a natural  reluc- 
tance at  mentioning  even  the  name  of  her  sister's 
seducer. 

“ Wha  was  it  ? — I conjure  ye  to  tell  me,”  said 
Effie,  seating  herself  upright  — “ Wha  could  tak 
interest  in  sic  a cast-by  as  1 am  now  ? — Was  it  — 
was  it  him  ? ” 

“ Hout”  said  Batcliffe,  “ what  signifies  keeping 
the  poor  lassie  in  a s wither  ? Lse  uphaud  its  been 
Eobertson  that  learned  ye  that  doctrine  when  ye 
saw  him  at  Muschat’s  Cairn,” 

"Was  it  him  ?”  said  Effie,  catching  eagerly  at  his 
words  — “was  it  him,  Jeanie,  indeed  7 — 0,  I see 
it  was  him  — poor  lad,  and  1 was  thinking  his  heart 
was  as  hard  as  the  nether  millstane  — and  him  in 
sic  danger  on  his  ain  part  — poor  George  ! ” 

Somewhat  indignant  at  this  burst  of  tender  feel- 
ing towards  the  author  of  her  misery,  Jeanie  could 
not  help  exclaiming  — “0  Effie,  how  can  ye  speak 
that  gate  of  sic  a man  as  that  ? ” 

“We  maun  forgie  our  enemies,  ye  kenf”  said  poor 
Effie,  with  a timid  look  and  a subdued  voice;  for  her 


304 


TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 


conscience  told  her  what  a different  character  the 
feelings  with  which  she  still  regarded  her  seducer 
bore,  compared  with  the  Christian  charity  under 
which  she  attempted  to  veil  it 

“ And  ye  hae  suffered  a this  for  him,  and  ye  can 
think  of  loving  him  still  ? ” said  her  sister,  in  a voice 
betwixt  pity  and  blame 

“ Love  him  ? ” answered  Efhe  — “ If  1 hadna loved 
as  woman  seldom  loves,  I hadna  been  within  these 
wa’s  this  day  ; and  trow  ye.  that  love  sic  as  mine  is 
lightly  forgotten?  — Na,  na— ye  may  hew  down 
the  tree,  but  ye  canna  change  its  bend  — And  0 
Jeanie,  if  ye  wad  do  good  to  me  at  this  moment,  tell 
me  every  word  that  he  said,  and  whether  he  was 
sorry  for  poor  Efhe  or  no  !” 

“What  needs  I tell  ye  ony  thing  about  it,”  said 
Jeanie.  “Ye  may  be  sure  he  had  ower  muckle  to 
do  to  save  himsell,  to  speak  lang  or  muckle  about 
ony  body  beside/’ 

“ That's  no  true,  Jeanie,  though  a saunt  had  said 
it  ” replied  Effie,  with  a sparkle  of  her  former  lively 
and  irritable  temper.  “But  ye  dinna  ken,  though  1 
do,  how  far  he  pat  his  life  in  venture  to  save  mine  ” 
And  looking  at  Ratcliffe,  she  checked  herself  and 
was  silent. 

“ I fancy,  ’ said  Ratcliffe,  with  one  of  his  familiar 
sneers,  “ the  lassie  thinks  that  naebody  has  een  but 
hersell  — Didna  1 see  when  Gentle  Geordie  was 
seeking  to  get  other  folk  out  of  the  Tolbooth  forby 
Jock  Porteous  ? but  ye  are  of  my  mind,  hinny  — 
better  sit  and  rue,  than  flit  and  rue — Ye  needna 
look  in  my  face  sae  amazed,  I ken  mair  things  than 
that,  maybe.” 

“ O my  God  ! my  God  ! 99  said  Effie,  springing  up 
and  throwing  herself  down  on  her  knees  before  him 


v of  m 

ISilf'EftlHI  Of  ILLIHOIS 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN.  305 

— “D’ye  ken  where  they  hae  putten  my  bairn ? — 
0 my  bairn ! my  bairn ! the  poor  sackless  innocent 
new-born  wee  ane  — bone  of  my  bone,  and  flesh  of 
my  flesh ! — 0 man,  if  ye  wad  e’er  deserve  a por- 
tion in  heaven,  or  a broken-hearted  creature’s  bless- 
ing upon  earth,  tell  me  where  they  hae  put  my  bairn 
— the  sign  of  my  shame,  and  the  partner  of  my  suf- 
fering ! tell  me  wha  has  taen’t  away,  or  what  they 
hae  dune  wi’t ! ” 

“ Hout  tout,”  said  the  turnkey,  endeavouring  to 
extricate  himself  from  the  firm  grasp  with  which 
she  held  him,  “ that’s  taking  me  at  my  word  wi'  a 
witness  — Bairn,  quo’  she?  How  the  deil  suld  I 
ken  ony  thing  of  your  bairn,  huzzy  ? Ye  maun  ask 
that  of  auld  Meg  Murdockson,  if  ye  dinna  ken  ower 
muckle  about  it  yoursell.” 

As  his  answer  destroyed  the  wild  and  vague  hope 
which  had  suddenly  gleamed  upon  her,  the  unhappy 
prisoner  let  go  her  hold  of  his  coat,  and  fell  with  her 
face  on  the  pavement  of  the  apartment  in  a strong 
convulsion  fit. 

Jeanie  Deans  possessed,  with  her  excellently  clear 
understanding,  the  concomitant  advantage  of  promp- 
titude of  spirit,  even  in  the  extremity  of  distress. 

fShe  did  not  suffer  herself  to  be  overcome  by  her 
own  feelings  of  exquisite  sorrow,  but  instantly  ap- 
plied herself  to  her  sister’s  relief,  with  the  readiest 
remedies  which  circumstances  afforded ; and  which, 
to  do  Ratcliffe  justice,  he  showed  himself  anxious  to 
sugges!7~arn^  in  procuring.]  He  had  even  the 
delicacy  to  withdraw  to  the  farthest  corner  of  the 
room,  so  as  to  render  his  official  attendance  upon 
them  as  little  intrusive  as  possible,  when  Effie  was 
composed  enough  again  to  resume  her  conference 
with  her  sister. 


3°6 


TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 


The  prisoner  once  more,  in  the  most.,  earnest  and 
broken  tones,  conjured  Jeanie  to*  tell  her  the  partic- 
ulars of  the  conference  with  Robertson,  and  Jeanie 
felt  it  was  impossible  to  refuse  her  this  gratification.  • 

“Do  ye  mind/*  she  said,  “Effie,  when  ye  were  in 
the  fever  before  we  left  Woodend,  and  how  angry 
your  mother,  that’s  now  in  a better  place,  was  wi’ 
me  for  gieing  ye  milk  and  water  to  drink,  because 
ye  grat  for  it  ? Ye  were  a bairn  then,  and  ye  are  a 
woman  now,  and  should  ken  better  than  ask  what 
canna  but  hurt  you  — But  come  weal  or  woe,  I canna 
refuse  ye  ony  thing  that  ye  ask  me  wi'  the  tear  in 
your  ee.” 

Again  Effie  threw  herself  into  her  arms,  and  kissed 
her  cheek  and  forehead,  murmuring,  “ 0,  if  ye  kend 
how  lang  it  is  since  I heard  his  name  mentioned ! — 
if'  ye  but  kend  how  muckle  good  it  does  me  but 
to  ken  ony  thing  o’  him,  that’s  like  goodness  or 
kindness,  ye  wadna  wonder  that  I wish  to  hear 
o’  him ! ” 

Jeanie  sighed,  and  commenced  her  narrative  of  all 
that  had  passed  betwixt  Robertson  and  her,  making 
it  as  brief  as  possible.  Effie  listened  in  breathless 
anxiety,  holding  her  sister’s  hand  in  hers,  and  keep- 
ing her  eye  fixed  upon  her  face,  as  if  devouring  every 
word  she  uttered  The  interjections  of  “ Poor  fel-  ] 
low,”  — “ Poor  George,”  which  escaped  in  whispers,  < 
and  betwixt  sighs,  were  the  only  sounds  with  which 
she  interrupted  the  story  When  it  was  finished 
she  made  a long  pause. 

“ And  this  was  his  advice  ? ” were  the  first  words 
she  uttered. 

“Just  sic  as  I hae  tell’d  ye,”  replied  her  sister. 

“And  he  wanted  you  to  say  something  to  yon 
folks,  that  wad  save  my  young  life  ? ” 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN.  307 

"He  wanted,’ ” answered  Jeanie,  " that  I suld  be 
mansworn.,, 

“ And  you  tauld  him,”  said  Effie,  " that  ye  wadna 
hear  o'  coming  between  me  and  the  death  that  I am 
to  die,  and  me  no  aughteen  year  auld  yet  ? ” 

" I told  him,”  replied  Jeanie,  who  now  trembled  at 
the  turn  which  her  sister’s  reflections  seemed  about 
to  take,  "that  I daured  na  swear  to  an  untruth.” 

“ And  what  d’ye  ca’  an  untruth  ? ” said  Effie,  again 
showing  a touch  of  her  former  spirit  — “ Ye  are 
muckle  to  blame,  lass,  if  ye  think  a mother  would, 
or  could,  murder  her  ain  bairn  — Murder  ? — I wad 
hae  laid  down  my  life  just  to  see  a blink  o'  its  ee!” 

“ I do  believe,”  said  Jeanie,  “ that  ye  are  as  inno- 
cent of  sic  a purpose  as  the  new-born  babe  itsell.” 

“ I am  glad  ye  do  me  that  justice,”  said  Effie, 
haughtily , " it’s  whiles  the  faut  of  very  good  folk 
like  you,  Jeanie,  that  they  think  a*  the  rest  of  the 
warld  are  as  bad  as  the  warst  temptations  can  make 
them.” 

“ I dinna  deserve  this  frae  ye,  Effie,”  said  her 
sister,  sobbing,  and  feeling  at  once  the  injustice  of 
the  reproach,  and  compassion  for  the  state  of  mind 
which  dictated  it. 

“ Maybe  no,  sister,”  said  Effie.  “ But  ye  are 
angry  because  I love  Robertson  — How  can  I help 
loving  him,  that  loves  me  better  than  body  and  soul 
baith  ? — Here  he  put  his  life  in  a niffer,  to  break 
the  prison  to  let  me  out;  and  sure  am  I,  had  it 
stood  wi’  him  as  it  stands  wi’  you  ” — Here  she 
paused  and  was  silent. 

" 0,  if  it  stude  wi’  me  to  save  ye  wi’  risk  of  my 
life  ! ” said  Jeanie. 

"Ay,  lass,”  said  her  sister,  "that’s  lightly  said, 
but  no  sae  lightly  credited,  frae  ane  that  winna 


308 


TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 


ware  a word  for  me ; and  if  it  be  a wrang  word, 
ye T1  hae  time  eneugh  to  repent  o’t.” 

f<  But  that  word  is  a grievous  sin,  and  it's  a 
deeper  offence  when  it’s  a sin  wilfully  and  pre- 
sumptuously committed.0 

“Weel,  weel,  Jeanie,”  said  Effie,  “I  mind  a* 
about  the  sins  o’  presumption  in  the  questions  -4 
we’ll  speak  nae  mair  about  this  matter,  and  ye  may 
save  your  breath  to  say  your  carritch ; and  for  me/. 
I’ll  soon  hae  nae  breath  to  waste  on  ony  body.” 

“I  must  needs  say,”  interposed  Ratcliffe,  “that 
it’s  d — d hard,  when  three  words  of  your  mouth 
would  give  the  girl  the  chance  to  nick  Moll  Blood, 1 
that  you  make  such  scrupling  about  rapping2  to 
them.  D — n me,  if  they  would  take  me,  if  I would 
not  rap  to  all  Whatd'yecallum’s  — Hyssop's  Fables, 
for  her  life  — I am  us’d  to’t,  b — t me,  for  less  mat- 
ters. Why,  I have  smacked  calf -skin  3 fifty  times 
in  England  for  a keg  of  brandy.” 

“ Never  speak  mair  o’t,”  said  the  prisoner.  “ It’s 
just  as  weel  as  it  is  — and  gude  day,  sister ; ye  keep 
Mr  Ratcliffe  waiting  on  — Ye’ll  come  back  and  see 

me,  I reckon,  before  ” here  she  stopped,  and 

became  deadly  pale. 

“ And  are  we  to  part  in  this  way,”  said  Jeanie, 

“ and  you  in  sic  deadly  peril  ? 0,  Effie,  look  but 

up,  and  say  what  ye  wad  hae  me  do,  and  I could 
find  in  my  heart  amaist  to  say  that  I wad  do’t  ” 

“ No,  Jeanie,”  replied  her  sister,  after  an  effort, 

“ I am  better  minded  now.  At  my  best,  I was 
never  half  sae  gude  as  ye  were,  and  what  for  suld 
you  begin  to  mak  yoursell  waur  to  save  me,  now 
that  I am  no  worth  saving  ? God  knows,  that  in 
my  sober  mind,  I wadna  wuss  ony  living  creature 
1 The  gallows,  2 Swearing  3 Kissed  the  book. 


V 


THE  HEART  0 E MID-LOTHIAN.  309 

; to  do  a wrang  thing  to  save  my  life.  I might  have 

j fled  frae  this  tolbooth  on  that  awfu’  night  wi’  ane 
wad  hae  carried  me  through  the  warld,  and  friended 
me,  and  fended  for  me.  But  I said  to  them,  let 
life  gang  when  gude  fame  is  gane  before  it.  But 
this  lang  imprisonment  has  broken  my  spirit,  and 
I am  whiles  sair  left  to  mysell,  and  then  I wad  gie 
the  Indian  mines  of  gold  and  diamonds,  just  for  life 
**and  breath  — for  I think,  Jeanie,  I have  such  roving 
fits  as  I used  to  hae  in  the  fever  ; but,  instead  of 
the  fiery  een,  and  wolves,  and  Widow  Butler's  bull- 
seg,  that  I used  to  see  spieling  up  on  my  bed,  I am 
thinking  now  about  a high,  black  gibbet,  and  me 
standing  up,  and  such  seas  of  faces  all  looking  up 
at  poor  Effie  Deans,  and  asking  if  it  be  her  that 
George  Robertson  used  to  call  the  Lily  of  St.  Leo- 
nard's. And  then  they  stretch  out  their  faces,  and 
make  mouths,  and  girn  at  me,  and  which  ever  way 
I look,  I see  a face  laughing  like  Meg  Murdockson, 
when  she  tauld  me  I had  seen  the  last  of  my  wean. 
God  preserve  us,  Jeanie,  that  carline  has  a fearsome 
face ! ” She  clapped  her  hands  before  her  eyes  as 
she  uttered  this  exclamation,  as  if  to  secure  herself 
against  seeing  the  fearful  object  she  had  alluded  to. 

Jeanie  Deans  remained  with  her  sister  for  two 
hours,  during  which  she  endeavoured,  if  possible, 
to  extract  something  from  her  that  might  be  ser- 
viceable in  her  exculpation.  But  she  had  nothing 
to  say  beyond  what  she  had  declared  on  her  first 
examination,  with  the  purport  of  which  the  reader 
will  be  made  acquainted  in  proper  time  and  place. 
“ They  wadna  believe  her,"  she  said,  “ and  she  had 
naething  mair  to  tell  them." 

At  length  Ratcliffe,  though  reluctantly,  informed 
the  sisters  that  there  was  a necessity  that  they  should 


3io  TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 

part,  “ Mr,  Novit,”  he  said,  “ was  to  see  the  prisoner, 
and  maybe  Mr.  Langtale  too,  Langtale  likes  to  look 
at  a bonny  lass,  whether  in  prison  or  out  o’  prison.” 
Reluctantly,  therefore,  and  slowly,  after  many  a 
tear,  and  many  an  embrace,  Jeanie  retired  from  the 
apartment,  and  heard  its  jarring  bolts  turned  upon 
the  dear  being  from  whom  she  was  separated. 
Somewhat  familiarized  now  even  with  her  rude 
conductor,  she  offered  him  a small  present  in  money, 
with  a request  he  would  do  what  he  could  for  her 
sister’s  accommodation.  To  her  surprise,  Ratcliffe 
declined  the  fee.  “ I wasna  bloody  when  I was  on 
the  pad,”  he  said,  “ and  I winna  be  greedy  — that 
is,  beyond  what’s  right  and  reasonable  — now  that 
I am  in  the  lock. — Keep  the  siller ; and  for  civility, 
your  sister  sail  hae  sic  as  I can  bestow ; but  I hope 
you’ll  think  better  on  it,  and  rap  an  oath  for  her  — 
deil  a hair  ill  there  is  in  it,  if  ye  are  rapping  again 
the  crown.  I kend  a worthy  minister,  as  gude  a 
man,  bating  the  deed  they  deposed  him  for,  as 
ever  ye  heard  claver  in  a pu'pit,  .that  rapped  to  a 
hogshead  of  pigtail  tobacco,  just  for  as  muckle  as 
filled  his  spleuchan.1  But  maybe  ye  are  keeping 
your  ain  counsel  — weel,  weel,  there’s  nae  harm  in 
that.  As  for  your  sister,  I’se  see  that  she  gets  her 
meat  clean  and  warm,  and  I’ll  try  to  gar  her  lie 
down  and  take  a sleep  after  dinner,  for  deil  a ee 
she’ll  close  the  night.  I hae  gude  experience  of 
these  matters.  The  first  night  is  aye  the  warst  o’t. 
I hae  never  heard  o’  ane  that  sleepit  the  night  afore 
trial,  but  of  mony  a ane  that  sleepit  as  sound  as  a 
tap  the  night  before  their  necks  were  straughted. 
And  it’s  nae  wonder  — the  warst  may  be  tholed 
when  it’s  kend  — Better  a finger  aff  as  aye  wagging.” 
1 Tobacco  pouck 


CHAPTER  XXI. 


Yet  though  thou  mayst  he  dragg’d  in  scorn 
To  yonder  ignominious  tree, 

Thou  shalt  not  want  one  faithful  friend 
To  share  the  cruel  fates’  decree. 

Jemmy  Dawson. 

After  spending  the  greater  part  of  the  morning 
in  his  devotions,  (for  his  benevolent  neighbours  had 
kindly  insisted  upon  discharging  his  task  of  ordi- 
nary labour,)  David  Deans  entered  the  apartment 
when  the  breakfast  meal  was  prepared.  His  eyes 
were  involuntarily  cast  down,  for  he  was  afraid  to 
look  at  Jeanie,  uncertain  as  he  was  whether  she 
might  feel  herself  at  liberty,  with  a good  conscience, 

1 to  attend  the  Court  of  Justiciary  that  day,  to  give 
the  evidence  which  he  understood  that  she  pos- 
sessed, in  order  to  her  sister’s  exculpation.  At 
length,  after  a minute  of  apprehensive  hesitation, 
he  looked  at  her  dress  to  discover  whether  it  seemed 
to  be  in  her  contemplation  to  go  abroad  that  morn- 
ing. Her  apparel  was  neat  and  plain,  but  such  as 
conveyed  no  exact  intimation  of  her  intentions  to 
go  abroad.  She  had  exchanged  her  usual  garb  for 
morning  labour,  for  one  something  inferior  to  that 
with  which,  as  her  best,  she  was  wont  to  dress  her- 
self for  church,  or  any  more  rare  occasion  of  going 
into  society.  Her  sense  taught  her,  that  it  was 
respectful  to  be  decent  in  her  apparel  on  such  an 
occasion,  while  her  feelings  induced  her  to  lay  aside 


312 


TALES  OE  MY  LANDLORD. 


the  use  of  the  very  few  and  simple  personal  orna- 
ments, which,  on  other  occasions,  she  permitted  her- 
self to  wear.  So  that  there  occurred  nothing  in  her 
external  appearance  which  could  mark  out  to  her 
father,  with  any  thing  like  certainty,  her  intentions 
on  this  occasion. 

The  preparations  for  their  humble  meal  were  that 
morning  made  in  vain.  The  father  and  daughter 
sat,  each  assuming  the  appearance  of  eating,  when 
the  other's  eyes  were  turned  to  them,  and  desisting 
from  the  effort  with  disgust,  when  the  affectionate 
imposture  seemed  no  longer  necessary. 

At  length  these  moments  of  constraint  were  re- 
moved. The  sound  of  St.  Giles’s  heavy  toll  an- 
nounced the  hour  previous  to  the  commencement  of 
the  trial ; Jeanie  arose,  and,  with  a degree  of  com- 
posure for  which  she  herself  could  not  account,  as- 
sumed her  plaid,  and  made  her  other  preparations 
for  a distant  walking.  It  was  a strange  contrast 
between  the  firmness  of  her  demeanour,  and  the 
vacillation  and  cruel  uncertainty  of  purpose  in- 
dicated in  all  her  father’s  motions ; and  one  unac- 
quainted with  both  could  scarcely  have  supposed 
that  the  former  was,  in  her  ordinary  habits  of  life,  a 
docile,  quiet,  gentle,  and  even  timid  country-maiden, 
while  her  father,  with  a mind  naturally  proud  and 
strong,  and  supported  by  religious  opinions,  of  a 
stern,  stoical,  and  unyielding  character,  had  in  his 
time  undergone  and  withstood  the  most  severe 
hardships,  and  the  most  imminent  peril,  without 
depression  of  spirit,  or  subjugation  of  his  constancy. 
The  secret  of  this  difference  was,  that  Jeanie’s  mind 
had  already  anticipated  the  line  of  conduct  which 
she  must  adopt,  with  all  its  natural  and  necessary 
consequences ; while  her  father,  ignorant  of  every 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN. 


3*3 


other  circumstance,  tormented  himself  with  imagin- 
ing what  the  one  sister  might  say  or  swear,  or  what 
effect  her  testimony  might  have  upon  the  awful 
event  of  the  trial. 

He  watched  his  daughter,  with  a faltering  and 
indecisive  look,  until  she  looked  back  upon  him, 
with  a look  of  unutterable  anguish,  as  she  was  about 
to  leave  the  apartment. 

“ My  dear  lassie,”  said  he,  “ I will  ” — His  action, 
hastily  and  confusedly  searching  for  his  worsted 
mittans 1 and  staff,  showed  his  purpose  of  accom- 
panying her,  though  his  tongue  failed  distinctly  to 
announce  it. 

“ Father,”  said  Jeanie,  replying  rather  to  his 
action  than  his  words,  “ye  had  better  not.” 

“ In  the  strength  of  my  God,”  answered  Deans, 
assuming  firmness,  “ I will  go  forth.” 

And,  taking  his  daughter’s  arm  under  his,  he 
began  to  walk  from  the  door  with  a step  so  hasty, 
that  she  was  almost  unable  to  keep  up  with  him. 
A trifling  circumstance,  but  which  marked  the  per- 
turbed state  of  his  mind,  checked  his  course.  — - 
“ Your  bonnet,  father  ? ” said  Jeanie,  who  observed 
he  had  come  out  with  his  grey  hairs  uncovered. 
He  turned  back  with  a slight  blush  on  his  cheek, 
being  ashamed  to  have  been  detected  in  an  omission 
which  indicated  so  much  mental  confusion,  assumed 
his  large  blue  Scottish  bonnet,  and  with  a step 
slower,  but  more  composed,  as  if  the  circumstance 
had  obliged  him  to  summon  up  his  resolution,  and 
collect  his  scattered  ideas,  again  placed  his  daughter’s 
arm  under  his,  and  resumed  the  way  to  Edinburgh. 

The  courts  of  justice  were  then,  and  are  still 
held  in  what  is  called  the  Parliament  Close,  or,  ac« 

1 A kind  of  worsted  gloves  used  by  the  lower  orders. 


314  TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 

cording  to  modern  phrase,  the  Parliament  Square,  J 
and  occupied  the  buildings  intended  for  the  accom-  | 
modation  of  the  Scottish  Estates,  This  edifice,  ] 
though  in  an  imperfect  and  corrupted  style  o f 
architecture,  had  then  a grave,  decent,  and,  as  it 
were,  a judicial  aspect,  which  was  at  least  entitled 
to  respect  from  its  antiquity.  For  which  venerable  J 
front,  I observed,  on  my  last  occasional  visit  to  the 
metropolis,  that  modern  taste  had  substituted,  at 
great  apparent  expense,  a pile  so  utterly  inconsis- 
tent with  every  monument  of  antiquity  around,  and 
in  itself  so  clumsy  at  the  same  time  and  fantastic,  | 
that  it  may  be  likened  to  the  decorations  of  Tom 
Errand  the  porter,  in  the  Trip  to  the  Jubilee,  when 
he  appears  bedizened  with  the  tawdry  finery  of 
Beau  Clincher.  Sed  transeat  cum  cceteris  erroribus. 

The  small  quadrangle,  or  Close,  if  we  may  pre-  , 
sume  still  to  give  it  that  appropriate,  though  anti- 
quated title,  which  at  Litchfield,  Salisbury,  and 
elsewhere,  is  properly  applied  to  designate  the  en- 
closure adjacent  to  a cathedral,  already  evinced  to- 
kens of  the  fatal  scene  which  was  that  day  to  be 
acted.  The  soldiers  of  the  City  Guard  were  on 
their  posts,  now  enduring,  and  now  rudely  repelling 
with  the  buts  of  their  muskets,  the  motley  crew 
who  thrust  each  other  forward,  to  catch  a glance  at 
the  unfortunate  object  of  trial,  as  she  should  pass 
from  the  adjacent  prison  to  the  Court  in  which  her 
fate  was  to  be  determined.  All  must  have  occa- 
sionally observed,  with  disgust,  the  apathy  with 
which  the  vulgar  gaze  on  scenes  of  this  nature,  and 
how  seldom,  unless  when  their  sympathies  are 
called  forth  by  some  striking  and  extraordinary 
circumstance,  the  crowd  evince  any  interest  deeper 
than  that  of  callous,  unthinking  bustle,  and  brutal 


THE  HEART  OE  MID-LOTHIAN. 


3iS 

curiosity.  They  laugh,  jest,  quarrel,  and  push  each 
other  to  and  fro,  with  the  same  unfeeling  indiffer- 
ence as  if  they  were  assembled  for  some  holiday 
sport,  or  to  see  an  idle  procession.  Occasionally 
however,  this  demeanour,  so  natural  to  the  degraded 
populace  of  a large  town,  is  exchanged  for  a tem- 
porary touch  of  human  affections ; and  so  it  chanced 
on  the  present  occasion. 

When  Deans  and  his  daughter  presented  them- 
selves in  the  Close,  and  endeavoured  to  make  their 
way  forward  to  the  door  of  the  Court-house,  they 
became  involved  in  the  mob,  and  subject,  of  course, 
to  their  insolence.  As  Deans  repelled  with  some 
force  the  rude  pushes  which  he  received  on  all 
sides,  his  figure  and  antiquated  dress  caught  the 
attention  of  the  rabble,  who  often  show  an  intuitive 
sharpness  in  ascribing  the  proper  character  from 
external  appearance.— 

“ Ye’re  welcome,  whigs, 

Frae  Bothwell  briggs,” 

sung  one  fellow  (for  the  mob  of  Edinburgh  were  at 
that  time  jacobiticall'y  disposed,  probably  because 
that  was  the  line  of  sentiment  most  diametrically 
opposite  to  existing  authority.) 

u Mess  David  Williamson, 

Chosen  of  twenty, 

Ran  up  the  pu’pit  stair, 

And  sang  Killiecrankie,” 

chanted  a siren,  whose  profession  might  be  guessed 
by  her  appearance.  A tattered  cadie,  or  errand 
porter,  whom  David  Deans  had  jostled  in  his  at- 
tempt to  extricate  himself  from  the  vicinity  of  these 
scorners,  exclaimed  in  a strong  north-country  tonef 


3‘6 


TALES  OE  MY  LANDLORD. 


“ Ta  deil  ding  out  her  Cameronian  een  — - what  gies 
her  titles  to  dunch  gentlemans  about  ? ” 

“ Make  room  for  the  ruling  elder,5'  said  yet 
another  ; “ he  comes  to  see  a precious  sister  glorify 
God  in  the  Grassmarket ! ” 

“ Whisht ; shame's  in  ye,  sirs,”  said  the  voice  of 
a man  very  loudly,  which,  as  quickly  sinking,  said 
in  a low,  but  distinct  tone,  “ It’s  her  father  and 
sister.” 

All  fell  back  to  make  way  for  the  sufferers  ; and 
all,  even  the  very  rudest  and  most  profligate,  were 
struck  with  shame  and  silence.  In  the  space  thus 
abandoned  to  them  by  the  mob,  Deans  stood,  hold- 
ing his  daughter  by  the  hand,  and  said  to  her,  with 
a countenance  strongly  and  sternly  expressive  of 
his  internal  emotion,  “ Ye  hear  with  your  ears, 
and  ye  see  with  your  eyes,  where  and  to  whom  the 
backslidings  and  defections  of  professors  are  as- 
cribed by  the  scoffers.  Not  to  themselves  alone, 
but  to  the  kirk  of  which  they  are  members,  and  to 
its  blessed  and  invisible  Head.  Then,  weel  may 
we  take  wi’  patience  our  share  and  portion  of  this 
out-spreading  reproach.” 

The  man  who  had  spoken,  no  other  than  our  old 
friend  Dumbiedikes,  whose  mouth,  like  that  of  the 
prophet’s  ass,  had  been  opened  by  the  emergency 
of  the  case,  now  joined  them,  and,  with  his  usual 
taciturnity,  escorted  them  into  the  Court-house. 
No  opposition  was  offered  to  their  entrance,  either 
by  the  guards  or  door-keepers ; and  it  is  even  said, 
that  one  of  the  latter  refused  a shilling  of  civility- 
money,  tendered  him  by  the  Laird  of  Dumbiedikes, 
who  was  of  opinion  that  “ siller  wad  mak  a.'  easy.” 
But  this  last  incident  wrants  confirmation. 

Admitted  within  the  precincts  of  the  Court-house, 


THE  HEART  OE  MID-LOTHIAN. 


3i7 


they  found  the  usual  number  of  busy  office-bearers, 
and  idle  loiterers,  who  attend  on  these  scenes  by 
choice,  or  from  duty.  Burghers  gaped  and  stared  ; 
young  lawyers  sauntered,  sneered,  and  laughed,  as 
in  the  pit  of  the  theatre ; while  others  apart  sat  on 
a bench  retired,  and  reasoned  highly,  inter  apices 
juris,  on  the  doctrines  of  constructive  crime,  and  the 
true  import  of  the  statute.  The  bench  was  pre- 
pared for  the  arrival  of  the  judges : The  jurors 
were  in  attendance.  The  crown-counsel,  employed 
in  looking  over  their  briefs  and  notes  of  evidence, 
looked  grave,  and  whispered  with  each  other.  They 
occupied  one  side  of  a large  table  placed  beneath 
the  bench ; on  the  other  sat  the  advocates,  whom 
the  humanity  of  the  Scottish  law  (in  this  particular 
more  liberal  than  that  of  the  sister  country)  not 
only  permits,  but  enjoins,  to  appear  and  assist  with 
their  advice  and  skill  all  persons  under  trial.  Mr. 
Nichil  Novit  was  seen  actively  instructing  the 
counsel  for  the  panel,  (so  the  prisoner  is  called  in 
Scottish  law-phraseology,)  busy,  bustling,  and  im- 
portant. When  they  entered  the  Court-room,  Deans 
asked  the  Laird,  in  a tremulous  whisper,  “ Where 
will  she  sit  ? ” 

Duinbiedikes  whispered  Novit,  who  pointed  to 
a vacant  space  at  the  bar,  fronting  the  judges,  and 
was  about  to  conduct  Deans  towards  it. 

“No!”  he  said;  “I  cannot  sit  by  her  — I can- 
not own  her  — not  as  yet,  at  least  — I will  keep  out 
of  her  sight,  and  turn  mine  own  eyes  elsewhere  — 
better  for  us  baith  ” 

Saddletree,  whose  repeated  interference  with  the 
counsel  had  procured  him  one  or  two  rebuffs,  and 
a special  request  that  he  would  concern  himself 
with  his  own  matters,  now  saw  with  pleasure  an 


TALES  OP  MY  LANDLORD. 


318 

opportunity  of  playing  the  person  of  importance. 
He  bustled  up  to  the  poor  old  man,  and  proceeded 
to  exhibit  his  consequence,  by  securing,  through  his 
interest  with  the  bar-keepers  and  macers,  a seat  for 
Deans,  in  a situation  where  he  was  hidden  from  the 
general  eye  by  the  projecting  corner  of  the  bench. 

“ It’s  gude  to  have  a friend  at  court/’  he  said, 
continuing  his  heartless  harangues  to  the  passive 
auditor,  who  neither  heard  nor  replied  to  them; 
“ few  folk  but  mysell  could  hae  sorted  ye  out  a seat 
like  this  — the  Lords  will  be  here  incontinent,  and 
proceed  instanter  to  trial.  They  wunna  fence  the 
court  as  they  do  at  the  Circuit  — The  High  Court 
of  Justiciary  is  aye  fenced.  — But,  Lord’s  sake, 
what’s  this  o’t  ? — Jeanie,  ye  are  a cited  witness  — 
Macer,  this  lass  is  a witness  — she  maun  be  en- 
closed — she  maun  on  nae  account  be  at  large.  — 
Mr.  Novit,  suldna  Jeanie  Deans  be  enclosed?” 

Novit  answered  in  the  affirmative,  and  offered  to 
conduct  Jeanie  to  the  apartment,  where,  according 
to  the  scrupulous  practice  of  the  Scottish  Court, 
the  witnesses  remain  in  readiness  to  be  called  into 
court  to  give  evidence  ; and  separated,  at  the  same 
time,  from  all  who  might  influence  their  testimony, 
or  give  them  information  concerning  that  which 
was  passing  upon  the  trial. 

“ Is  this  necessary  ?”  said  Jeanie,  still  reluctant 
to  quit  her  father’s  hand. 

“A  matter  of  absolute  needcessity,”  said  Sad- 
dletree ; “ wha  ever  heard  of  witnesses  no  being 
enclosed  ? ” 

“ It  is  really  a matter  of  necessity,”  said  the 
younger  counsellor,  retained  for  her  sister ; and 
Jeanie  reluctantly  followed  the  macer  of  the  court 
to  the  place  appointed. 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN. 


3i9 


“This,  Mr.  Deans,”  said  Saddletree,  “is  ca’d 
sequestering  a witness ; but  it’s  clean  different 
(wliilk  maybe  ye  wadna  fund  out  o’  yoursell)  frae 
sequestering  ane’s  estate  or  effects,  as  in  cases  of 
bankruptcy.  I hae  aften  been  sequestered  as  a wit- 
ness, for  the  Sheriff  is  in  the  use  whiles  to  cry  me 
in  to  witness  the  declarations  at  precognitions,  and 
so  is  Mr.  Sharpitlaw ; but  I was  ne’er  like  to  be  se- 
questered 0’  land  and  gudes  but  ance,  and  that  was 
lang  syne,  afore  I was  married.  But  whisht, 
whisht ! here’s  the  Court  coming.” 

As  he  spoke,  the  five  Lords  of  Justiciary,  in  their 
long  robes  of  scarlet,  faced  with  white,  and  pre- 
ceded by  their  mace-bearer,  entered  with  the  usual 
formalities,  and  took  their  places  upon  the  bench 
of  judgment. 

The  audience  rose  to  receive  them ; and  the  bustle 
occasioned  by  their  entrance  was  hardly  composed, 
when  a great  noise  and  confusion  of  persons  strug- 
gling, and  forcibly  endeavouring  to  enter  at  the 
doors  of  the  Court-room  and  of  the  galleries,  an- 
nounced that  the  prisoner  was  about  to  be  placed 
at  the  bar.  This  tumult  takes  place  when  the 
doors,  at  first  only  opened  to  those  either  having 
right  to  be  present,  or  to  the  better  and  more 
qualified  ranks,  are  at  length  laid  open  to  all  whose 
curiosity  induces  them  to  be  present  on  the  occasion. 
With  inflamed  countenances  and  dishevelled  dresses, 
struggling  with,  and  sometimes  tumbling  over  each 
other,  in  rushed  the  rude  multitude,  while  a few 
soldiers,  forming,  as  it  were,  the  centre  of  the  tide, 
could  scarce,  with  all  their  efforts,  clear  a passage 
for  the  prisoner  to  the  place  which  she  was  to  oc- 
cupy. By  the  authority  of  the  Court,  and  the 
exertions  of  its  officers,  the  tumult  among  the 


320 


TALES  0E  MY  LANDLORD. 


spectators  was  at  length  appeased,  and  the  unhappy 
girl  brought  forward,  and  placed  betwixt  two 
sentinels  with  drawn  bayonets,  as  a prisoner  at  the 
bar,  where  she  was  to  abide  her  deliverance  for 
good  or  evil,  according  to  the  issue  of  her  trial. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 


We  have  strict  statutes,  and  most  biting  laws  — 

The  needful  bits,  and  curbs  for  headstrong  steeds  — 

Which,  for  these  fourteen  years,  we  have  let  sleep, 

Like  to  an  o’ergrown  lion  in  a cave, 

That  goes  not  out  to  prey. 

Measure  for  Measure. 

“Euphemia  Deans,”  said  the  presiding  Judge,  in  an 
accent  in  which  pity  was  blended  with  dignity, 
“ stand  up,  and  listen  to  the  criminal  indictment 
now  to  be  preferred  against  you.” 

The  unhappy  girl,  who  had  been  stupified  by  the 
confusion  through  which  the  guards  had  forced  a 
passage,  cast  a bewildered  look  on  the  multitude  of 
faces  around  her,  which  seemed  to  tapestry,  as  it 
were,  the  walls,  in  one  broad  slope  from  the  ceiling 
to  the  floor,  with  human  countenances,  and  instinct- 
ively obeyed  a command,  which  rung  in  her  ears 
like  the  trumpet  of  the  judgment-day 

“ Put  back  your  hair,  Effie,”  said  one  of  the 
macers.  For  her  beautiful  and  abundant  tresses 
of  long  fair  hair,  which,  according  to  the  costume 
of  the  country,  unmarried  women  were  not  allowed 
to  cover  with  any  sort  of  cap,  and  which,  alas ! 
Effie  dared  no  longer  confine  with  the  snood  or 
ribband,  which  implied  purity  of  maiden-fame,  now 
hung  unbound  and  dishevelled  over  her  face,  and 
almost  concealed  her  features.  On  receiving  this 
hint  from  the  attendant,  the  unfortunate  young 


322 


TALES  OE  MY  LANDLORD. 


woman,  with  a hasty,  trembling,  and  apparently 
mechanical  compliance,  shaded  back  from  her  face 
her  luxuriant  locks,  and  showed  to  the  whole  court, 
excepting  one  individual,  a countenance,  which, 
though  pale  and  emaciated,  was  so  lovely  amid  its 
agony,  that  it  called  forth  an  universal  murmur  of 
compassion  and  sympathy.  Apparently  the  ex- 
pressive sound  of  human  feeling  recalled  the  poor 
girl  from  the  stupor  of  fear,  which  predominated 
at  first  over  every  other  sensation,  and  awakened 
her  to  the  no  less  painful  sense  of  shame  and  ex 
posure  attached  to  her  present  situation.  Her  eye, 
which  had  at  first  glanced  wildly  around,  was  turned 
on  the  ground ; her  cheek,  at  first  so  deadly  pale, 
began  gradually  to  be  overspread  with  a faint  blush, 
which  increased  so  fast,  that,  when  in  agony  of 
shame  she  strove  to  conceal  her  face,  her  temples, 
her  brow,  her  neck,  and  all  that  her  slender  fingers 
and  small  palms  could  not  cover,  became  of  the 
deepest  crimson. 

All  marked  and  were  moved  by  these  changes, 
excepting  one.  It  was  old  Deans,  who,  motionless 
in  his  seat,  and  concealed,  as  we  have  said,  by  the 
corner  of  the  bench,  from  seeing  or  being  seen,  did 
nevertheless  keep  his  eyes  firmly  fixed  on  the 
ground,  as  if  determined  that,  by  no  possibility 
whatever,  would  he  be  an  ocular  witness  of  the 
shame  of  his  house. 

“ Ichabod  ! ” he  said  to  himself  — “ Ichabod  ! my 
glory  is  departed  ! ” 

While  these  reflections  were  passing  through  his 
mind,  the  indictment,  which  set  forth  in  technical 
form  the  crime  of  which  the  panel  stood  accused, 
was  read  as  usual,  and  the  prisoner  was  asked  if  she 
was  Guilty,  or  Not  Guilty. 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTIHAN.  323 

“Not  guilty  of  my  poor  bairn’s  death,”  said  Effie 
Deans,  in  an  accent  corresponding  in  plaintive  soft- 
ness of  tone  to  the  beauty  of  her  features,  and  which 
was  not  heard  by  the  audience  without  emotion. 

The  presiding  Judge  next  directed  the  counsel  to 
plead  to  the  relevancy ; that  is,  to  state  on  either 
part  the  arguments  in  point  of  law,  and  evidence  in 
point  of  fact,  against  and  in  favour  of  the  criminal ; 
after  which  it  is  the  form  of  the  Court  to  pronounce 
a preliminary  judgment,  sending  the  cause  to  the 
cognizance  of  the  jury  or  assize. 

The  counsel  for  the  crown  briefly  stated  the  fre- 
quency of  the  crime  of  infanticide,  which  had  given 
rise  to  the  special  statute  under  which  the  panel 
stood  indicted.  He  mentioned  the  various  instances, 
many  of  them  marked  with  circumstances  of  atrocity, 
which  had  at  length  induced  the  King’s  Advocate, 
though  with  great  reluctance,  to  make  the  experi- 
ment, whether  by  strictly  enforcing  the  Act  of  Par- 
liament which  had  been  made  to  prevent  such 
enormities,  their,  occurrence  might  be  prevented. 
“ He  expected,”  he  said,  “ to  be  able  to  establish  by 
witnesses,  as  well  as  by  the  declaration  of  the  panel 
herself,  that  she  was  in  the  state  described  by  the 
statute.  According  to  his  information,  the  panel 
had  communicated  her  pregnancy  to  no  one,  nor  did 
she  allege  in  her  own  declaration  that  she  had  done 
so.  This  secrecy  was  the  first  requisite  in  support  of 
the  indictment.  The  same  declaration  admitted,  that 
she  had  borne  a male  child,  in  circumstances  which 
gave  but  too  much  reason  to  believe  it  had  died  by 
the  hands,  or  at  least  with  the  knowledge  or  con- 
sent, of  the  unhappy  mother.  It  was.  not,  however, 
necessary  for  him  to  bring  positive  proof  that  the 
panel  was  accessory  to  the  murder,  nay,  nor  even  to 


324 


TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 


prove  that  the  child  was  murdered  at  all.  It  was 
sufficient  to  support  the  indictment,  that  it  could 
not  be  found.  According  to  the  stern,  but  necessary 
severity  of  this  statute,  she  who  should  conceal  her 
pregnancy,  who  should  omit  to  call  that  assistance 
which  is  most  necessary  on  such  occasions,  was  held 
already  to  have  meditated  the  death  of  her  offspring, 
as  an  event  most  likely  to  be  the  consequence  of  her 
culpable  and  cruel  concealment.  And  if,  under  such 
circumstances,  she  could  not  alternatively  show  by 
proof  that  the  infant  had  died  a natural  death,  or 
produce  it  still  in  life,  she  must,  under  the  construc- 
tion of  the  law,  be  held  to  have  murdered  it,  and 
suffer  death  accordingly.” 

The  counsel  for  the  prisoner,  Mr.  Fairbrother,  a 
man  of  considerable  fame  in  his  profession,  did  not 
pretend  directly  to  combat  the  arguments  of  the 
King’s  Advocate.  He  began  by  lamenting  that  his 
senior  at  the  bar,  Mr.  Langtale,  had  been  suddenly 
called  to  the  county  of  which  he  was  Sheriff,  and 
that  he  had  been  applied  to,  on  short  warning,  to 
give  the  panel  his  assistance  in  this  interesting 
case.  He  had  had  little  time,  he  said,  to  make  up 
for  his  inferiority  to  his  learned  brother  by  long 
and  minute  research ; and  he  was  afraid  he  might 
give  a specimen  of  his  incapacity,  by  being  com- 
pelled to  admit  the  accuracy  of  the  indictment 
under  the  statute.  “ It  was  enough  for  their  Lord- 
ships,”  he  observed,  “ to  know,  that  such  was  the 
law,  and  he  admitted  the  Advocate  had  a right  to 
call  for  the  usual  interlocutor  of  relevancy.”  But 
he  stated,  “ that  when  he  came  to  establish  his  case 
by  proof,  he  trusted  to  make  out  circumstances 
which  would  satisfactorily  elide  the  charge  in  the 
libel.  His  client’s  story  was  a short,  but  most 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN.  325 

melancholy  one.  She  was  bred  up  in  the  strictest 
tenets  of  religion  and  virtue,  the  daughter  of  a 
worthy  and  conscientious  person,  who,  in  evil  times, 
had  established  a character  for  courage  and  religion, 
by  becoming  a sufferer  for  conscience'  sake." 

David  Deans  gave  a convulsive  start  at  hearing 
himself  thus  mentioned,  and  then  resumed  the  situ- 
ation, in  which,  with  his  face  stooped  against  his 
hands,  and  both  resting  against  the  corner  of  the 
elevated  bench  on  which  the  Judges  sate,  he  had 
hitherto  listened  to  the  procedure  in  the  trial.  The 
whig  lawyers  seemed  to  be  interested ; the  tories 
put  up  their  lip. 

“ Whatever  may  be  our  difference  of  opinion,"  re- 
sumed the  lawyer,  whose  business  it  was  to  carry 
his  whole  audience  with  him  if  possible,  “ concern- 
ing the  peculiar  tenets  of  these  people,"  (here  Deans 
groaned  deeply,)  “ it  is  impossible  to  deny  them  the 
praise  of  sound,  and  even  rigid  morals,  or  the  merit 
of  training  up  their  children  in  the  fear  of  God ; 
and  yet  it  was  the  daughter  of  such  a person  whom 
a jury  would  shortly  be  called  upon,  in  the  absence 
of  evidence,  and  upon  mere  presumptions,  to  convict 
of  a crime,  more  properly  belonging  to  an  heathen, 
or  a savage,  than  to  a Christian  and  civilized  coun- 
try. It  was  true,"  he  admitted,  “ that  the  excellent 
nurture  and  early  instruction  which  the  poor  girl 
had  received,  had  not  been  sufficient  to  preserve  her 
from  guilt  and  error.  She  had  fallen  a sacrifice  to 
an  inconsiderate  affection  for  a young  man  of  pre- 
possessing manners,  as  he  had  been  informed,  but  of 
a very  dangerous  and  desperate  character.  She  was 
seduced  under  promise  of  marriage  — a promise, 
which  the  fellow  might  have,  perhaps,  done  hex 
justice  by  keeping,  had  he  not  at  that  time  been 


326 


TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 


called  upon  by  the  law  to  atone  for  a crime,  violent 
and  desperate  in  itself,  but  which  became  the  preface 
to  another  eventful  history,  every  step  of  which  was 
marked  by  blood  and  guilt,  and  the  final  termination 
of  which  had  not  even  yet  arrived.  He  believed  that 
no  one  would  hear  him  without  surprise,  when  he 
stated  that  the  father  of  this  infant  now  amissing, 
and  said  by  the  learned  Advocate  to  have  been  mur- 
dered, was  no  other  than  the  notorious  George  Rob- 
ertson, the  accomplice  of  Wilson,  the  hero  of  the 
memorable  escape  from  the  Tolbooth  Church,  and, 
as  no  one  knew  better  than  his  learned  friend  the 
Advocate,  the  principal  actor  in  the  Porteous 
conspiracy.”  — 

“ I am  sorry  to  interrupt  a counsel  in  such  a case 
as  the  present,”  said  the  presiding  Judge;  “but  I 
must  remind  the  learned  gentleman,  that  he  is  trav- 
elling out  of  the  case  before  us.” 

The  counsel  bowed,  and  resumed.  “He  only 
judged  it  necessary,”  he  said,  “ to  mention  the  name 
and  situation  of  Robertson,  because  the  circum- 
stance in  which  that  character  was  placed,  went  a 
great  way  in  accounting  for  the  silence  on  which 
his  Majesty’s  counsel  had  laid  so  much  weight,  as 
affording  proof  that  his  client  proposed  to  allow  no 
fair  play  for  its  life,  to  the  helpless  being  whom  she  \ 
was  about  to  bring  into  the  world.  She  had  not 
announced  to  her  friends  that  she  had  been  seduced  j 
from  the  path  of  honour  — and  why  had  she  not  done 
so  ? — Because  she  expected  daily  to  be  restored  to 
character,  by  her  seducer  doing  her  that  justice 
which  she  knew  to  be  in  his  power,  and  believed 
to  be  in  his  inclination.  Was  it  natural  — was  it 
reasonable  — was  it  fair,  to  expect  that  she  should, 
in  the  interim,  become  felo  de  se  of  her  own  charac- 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN. 


327 


ter,  and  proclaim  her  frailty  to  the  world,  when  she 
had  every  reason  to  expect,  that,  by  concealing  it 
fora  season,  it  might  be  veiled  forever?  Was  it 
not,  on  the  contrary,  pardonable,  that,  in  such  an 
emergency,  a young  woman,  in  such  a situation, 
should  be  found  far  from  disposed  to  make  a con- 
fidant of  every  prying  gossip,  who,  with  sharp  eyes, 
and  eager  ears,  pressed  upon  her  for  an  explanation 
of  suspicious  circumstances,  which  females  in  the 
lower  — he  might  say  which  females  of  all  ranks  are 
so  alert  in  noticing,  that  they  sometimes  discover 
them  where  they  do  not  exist  ? Was  it  strange,  or 
was  it  criminal,  that  she  should  have  repelled  their 
inquisitive  impertinence,  with  petulant  denials  ? 
The  sense  and  feeling  of  all  who  heard  him  would 
answer  directly  in  the  negative.  But  although  his 
client  had  thus  remained  silent  towards  those  to 
whom  she  was  not  called  upon  to  communicate  her 
situation, — to  whom/’  said  the  learned  gentleman, 
“ I will  add,  it  would  have  been  unadvised  and 
improper  in  her  to  have  done  so ; yet,  I trust,  I shall 
remove  this  case  most  triumphantly  from  under  the 
statute,  and  obtain  the  unfortunate  young  woman 
an  honourable  dismission  from  your  Lordships'  bar, 
by  showing  that  she  did,  in  due  time  and  place,  and 
to  a person  most  fit  for  such  confidence,  mention 
the  calamitous  circumstances  in  which  she  found 
herself.  This  occurred  after  Robertson's  conviction, 
and  when  he  was  lying  in  prison  in  expectation  of 
the  fate  which  his  comrade  Wilson  afterwards  suf- 
fered, and  from  which  he  himself  so  strangely  es- 
caped. It  was  then,  when  all  hopes  of  having  her 
honour  repaired  by  wedlock  vanished  from  her  eyes, 
— - when  an  union  with  one  in  Robertson's  situation, 
if  still  practicable,  might,  perhaps,  have  been  regarded 


328 


TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 


rather  as  an  addition  to  her  disgrace.  — it  was 
then , that  I trust  to  be  able  to  prove  that  the  pri- 
soner communicated  and  consulted  with  her  sister, 
a young  woman  several  years  older  than  herself, 
the  daughter  of  her  father,  if  I mistake  not,  by  a 
former  marriage,  upon  the  perils  and  distress  of  her 
unhappy  situation.” 

“ If,  indeed,  you  are  able  to  instruct  that  point, 
Mr.  Fairbrother,”  said  the  presiding  Judge 

“ If  I am  indeed  able  to  instruct  that  point,  my 
Lord,”  resumed  Mr.  Fairbrother,  “ I trust  not  only 
to  serve  my  client,  but  to  relieve  your  Lordships 
from  that  which  I know  you  feel  the  most  painful 
duty  of  your  high  office ; and  to  give  all  who  now 
hear  me  the  exquisite  pleasure  of  beholding  a crea- 
ture so  young,  so  ingenuous,  and  so  beautiful,  as 
she  that  is  now  at  the  bar  of  your  Lordships’  Court, 
dismissed  from  thence  in  safety  and  in  honour.” 

This  address  seemed  to  affect  many  of  the  audi- 
ence, and  was  followed  by  a slight  murmur  of  ap- 
plause. Deans,  as  he  heard  his  daughter’s  beauty 
and  innocent  appearance  appealed  to,  was  involun- 
tarily about  to  turn  his  eyes  towards  her;  but, 
recollecting  himself,  he  bent  them  again  on  the 
ground  with  stubborn  resolution. 

“ Will  not  my  learned  brother,  on  the  other  side 
of  the  bar,”  continued  the  advocate,  after  a short 
pause,  “ share  in  this  general  joy,  since  I know, 
while  he  discharges  his  duty  in  bringing  an  accused 
person  here,  no  one  rejoices  more  in  their  being 
freely  and  honourably  sent  hence  ? My  learned 
brother  shakes  his  head  doubtfully,  and  lays  his 
hand  on  the  panel’s  declaration.  I understand  him 
perfectly  — he  would  insinuate  that  the  facts  now 
stated  to  your  Lordships  are  inconsistent  with  the 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN. 


329 


confession  of  Eupliemia  Deans  herself.  I need  not 
remind  your  Lordships,  that  her  present  defence  is 
no  whit  to  be  narrowed  within  the  bounds  of  her 
former  confession ; and  that  it  is  not  by  any  account 
which  she  may  formerly  have  given  of  herself,  but 
by  what  is  now  to  be  proved  for  or  against  her,  that 
she  must  ultimately  stand  or  fall.  I am  not  under 
the  necessity  of  accounting  for  her  choosing  to  drop 
out  of  her  declaration  the  circumstances  of  her  con- 
fession to  her  sister.  She  might  not  be  aware  of 
its  importance ; she  might  be  afraid  of  implicating 
her  sister ; she  might  even  have  forgotten  the  cir- 
cumstance entirely,  in  the  terror  and  distress  of 
mind  incidental  to  the  arrest  of  so  young  a creature 
on  a charge  so  heinous.  Any  of  these  reasons  are 
sufficient  to  account  for  her  having  suppressed  the 
truth  in  this  instance,  at  whatever  risk  to  herself ; 
and  I incline  most  to  her  erroneous  fear  of  crimi- 
nating her  sister,  because  I observe  she  has  had  a 
similar  tenderness  towards  her  lover,  (however  un- 
deserved on  his  part,)  and  has  never  once  mentioned 
Robertson's  name  from  beginning  to  end  of  her 
declaration. 

“ But,  my  Lords,"  continued  Fairbrother,  “ I 
am  aware  the  King's’  Advocate  will  expect  me  to 
show,  that  the  proof  I offer  is  consistent  with  other 
circumstances  of  the  case,  which  I do  not  and  can- 
not deny.  He  will  demand  of  me  how  Effie  Deans's 
confession  to  her  sister,  previous  to  her  delivery,  is 
reconcilable  with  the  mystery  of  the  birth,  — with 
the  disappearance,  perhaps  the  murder  (for  I will 
not  deny  a possibility  which  I cannot  disprove)  of 
the  infant.  My  Lords,  the  explanation  of  this  is  to 
be  found  in  the  placability,  perchance,  I may  say, 
in  the  facility  and  pliability,  of  the  female  sex.  The 


330  TALES  OE  MY  LANDLORD. 

dulcis  Amaryllidis  irce , as  your  Lordships  well 
know,  are  easily  appeased  ; nor  is  it  possible  to  con- 
ceive a woman  so  atrociously  offended  by  the  man 
whom  she  has  loved,  but  what  she  will  retain 
a fund  of  forgiveness,  upon  which  his  penitence, 
whether  real  or  affected,  may  draw  largely,  with  a 
certainty  that  his  bills  will  be  answered.  We  can 
prove,  by  a letter  produced  in  evidence,  that  this 
villain  Robertson,  from  the  bottom  of  the  dungeon 
whence  he  already  probably  meditated  the  escape, 
which  he  afterwards  accomplished  by  the  assistance 
of  his  comrade,  contrived  to  exercise  authority  over 
the  mind,  and  to  direct  the  motions,  of  this  unhappy 
girl.  It  was  in  compliance  with  his  injunctions, 
expressed  in  that  letter,  that  the  panel  was  pre- 
vailed upon  to  alter  the  line  of  conduct  which  her 
own  better  thoughts  had  suggested;  and,  instead 
of  resorting,  when  her  time  of  travail  approached, 
to  the  protection  of  her  own  family,  was  induced 
to  confide  herself  to  the  charge  of  some  vile  agent 
of  this  nefarious  seducer,  and  by  her  conducted 
to  one  of  those  solitary  and  secret  purlieus  of  villainy, 
which,  to  the  shame  of  our  police,  still  are  suffered 
to  exist  in  the  suburbs  of  this  city,  where,  with  the 
assistance,  and  under  the  charge,  of  a person  of 
her  own  sex,  she  bore  a male-child,  under  circum- 
stances which  added  treble  bitterness  to  the  woe 
denounced  against  our  original  mother.  What  pur- 
pose Robertson  had  in  all  this,  it  is  hard  to  tell  or 
even  to  guess.  He  may  have  meant  to  marry  the 
girl,  for  her  father  is  a man  of  substance.  But,  for 
the  termination  of  the  story,  and  the  conduct  of 
the  woman  whom  he  had  placed  about  the  person 
of  Euphemia  Deans,  it  is  still  more  difficult  to  ac- 
count. The  unfortunate  young  woman  was  visited 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTIIIAN. 


33i 


by  the  fever  incidental  to  her  situation.  In  this 
fever  she  appears  to  have  been  deceived  by  the 
person  that  waited  on  her,  and,  on  recovering  her 
senses,  she  found  that  she  was  childless  in  that  abode 
of  misery.  Her  infant  had  been  carried  off,  perhaps 
for  the  worst  purposes,  by  the  wretch  that  waited 
on  her.  It  may  have  been  murdered  for  what  I 
can  tell.” 

He  was  here  interrupted  by  a piercing  shriek, 
uttered  by  the  unfortunate  prisoner.  She  was  with 
difficulty  brought  to  compose  herself.  Her  counsel 
availed  himself  of  the  tragical  interruption,  to  close 
his  pleading  with  effect. 

“ My  Lords,”  said  he,  “ in  that  piteous  cry  you 
heard  the  eloquence  of  maternal  affection,  far  sur- 
passing the  force  of  my  poor  words  — Rachel  weep- 
ing for  her  children  ! Nature  herself  bears  testi- 
mony in  favour  of  the  tenderness  and  acuteness  of 
the  prisoner's  parental  feelings.  I will  not  dishon- 
our her  plea  by  adding  a word  more.” 

" Heard  ye  ever  the  like  o'  that,  Laird  ? ” said 
Saddletree  to  Dumbiedikes,  when  the  counsel  had 
ended  his  speech.  “ There’s  a chield  can  spin  a 
muckle  pirn  out  of  a wee  tait  of  tow  ! Deil  haet 
he  kens  mair  about  it  than  what's  in  the  declaration, 
and  a surmise  that  Jeanie  Deans  suld  hae  been  able 
to  say  something  about  her  sister’s  situation,  whilk 
surmise,  Mr.  Crossmyloof  says,  rests  on  sma'  autho- 
rity. And  he's  cleckit  this  great  muckle  bird  out 
o'  this  wee  egg ! He  could  wile  the  very  flounders 
out  o’  the  Firth. — What  garr'd  my  father  no  send 
me  to  Utrecht  ? — But  whisht,  the  Court  is  gaun  to 
pronounce  the  interlocutor  of  relevancy.” 

And  accordingly  the  Judges,  after  a few  words, 
recorded  their  judgment,  which  bore,  that  the  in- 


332 


TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 


dictment,  if  proved,  was  relevant  to  infer  the  pains 
of  law : And  that  the  defence,  that  the  panel  had 
communicated  her  situation  to  her  sister,  was  a rel- 
evant defence : And,  finally,  appointed  the  said 
indictment  and  defence  to  be  submitted  to  the 
judgment  of  an  assize. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

Most  righteous  judge ! a sentence.  — Come,  prepare. 

Merchant  of  Venice 

It  is  by  no  means  my  intention  to  describe 
minutely  the  forms  of  a Scottish  criminal  trial,  nor 
am  I sure  that  I could  draw  up  an  account  so  in- 
telligible and  accurate  as  to  abide  the  criticism  of 
the  gentlemen  of  the  long  robe.  It  is  enough  to 
say  that  the  jury  was  impanelled,  and  the  case  pro- 
ceeded. The  prisoner  was  again  required  to  plead 
to  the  charge,  and  she  again  replied,  “ Not  Guilty,” 
in  the  same  heart-thrilling  tone  as  before. 

The  crown  counsel  then  called  two  or  three  fe- 
male witnesses,  by  whose  testimony  it  was  estab- 
lished, that  Fifie’s  situation  had  been  remarked  by 
them,  that  they  had  taxed  her  with  the  fact,  and 
that  her  answers  had  amounted  to  an  angry  and 
petulant  denial  of  what  they  charged  her  with.  But, 
as  very  frequently  happens,  the  declaration  of  the 
panel  or  accused  party  herself  was  the  evidence 
which  bore  hardest  upon  her  case. 

In  the  event  of  these  Tales  ever  finding  their  way 
across  the  Border,  it  may  be  proper  to  apprise  the 
southern  reader  that  it  is  the  practice  in  Scotland, 
on  apprehending  a suspected  person,  to  subject  him 
to  a judicial  examination  before  a magistrate.  He 
is  not  compelled  to  answer  any  of  the  questions 
asked  of  him,  but  may  remain  silent  if  he  sees  it  his 
interest  to  do  so.  But  whatever  answers  he  chooses 


334 


TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 


to  give  are  formally  written  down,  and  being  sub- 
scribed by  himself  and  the  magistrate,  are  produced 
against  the  accused  in  case  of  his  being  brought  to 
trial.  It  is  true,  that  these  declarations  are  not  pro- 
duced as  being  in  themselves  evidence  properly  so 
called,  but  only  as  adminicles  of  testimony,  tending 
to  corroborate  what  is  considered  as  legal  and  proper 
evidence.  Notwithstanding  this  nice  distinction, 
however,  introduced  by  lawyers  to  reconcile  this 
procedure  to  their  own  general  rule,  that  a man 
cannot  be  required  to  bear  witness  against  himself, 
it  nevertheless  usually  happens  that  these  declara- 
tions become  the  means  of  condemning  the  accused, 
as  it  were,  out  of  their  own  mouths.  The  prisoner, 
upon  these  previous  examinations,  has  indeed  the 
privilege  of  remaining  silent  if  he  pleases ; but 
every  man  necessarily  feels  that  a refusal  to  answer 
natural  and  pertinent  interrogatories,  put  by  judi- 
cial authority,  is  in  itself  a strong  proof  of  guilt, 
and  will  certainly  lead  to  his  being  committed  to 
prison  ; and  few  can  renounce  the  hope  of  obtain- 
ing liberty,  by  giving  some  specious  account  of 
themselves,  and  showing  apparent  frankness  in  ex- 
plaining their  motives  and  accounting  for  their  con- 
duct. It,  therefore,  seldom  happens  that  the  pris- 
oner refuses  to  give  a judicial  declaration,  in  which, 
nevertheless,  either  by  letting  out  too  much  of  the 
truth,  or  by  endeavouring  to  substitute  a fictitious 
story,  he  almost  always  exposes  himself  to  sus- 
picion and  to  contradictions,  which  weigh  heavily 
in  the  minds  of  the  jury. 

The  declaration  of  Effie  Deans  was  uttered  on 
other  principles,  and  the  following  is  a sketch  of 
its  contents,  given  in  the  judicial  form,  in  which 
they  may  still  be  found  in  the  Books  of  Adjournal. 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN. 


335 


The  declarant  admitted  a criminal  intrigue  with 
an  individual  whose  name  she  desired  to  conceal. 
“ Being  interrogated,  what  her  reason  was  for  se- 
crecy  on  this  point  ? She  declared,  that  she  had  no 
right  to  blame  that  person's  conduct  more  than 
she  did  her  own,  and  that  she  was  willing  to  con- 
fess her  own  faults,  but  not  to  say  anything  which 
might  criminate  the  absent.  Interrogated,  if  she 
confessed  her  situation  to  any  one,  or  made  any 
preparation  for  her  confinement  ? Declares,  she 
did  not.  And  being  interrogated,  why  she  forbore 
to  take  steps  which  her  situation  so  peremptorily 
required  ? Declares,  she  was  ashamed  to  tell  her 
friends,  and  she  trusted  the  person  she  has  men- 
tioned would  provide  for  her  and  the  infant.  In- 
terrogated, if  he  did  so  ? Declares,  that  he  did  not 
do  so  personally  ; but  that  it  was  not  his  fault,  for 
that  the  declarant  is  convinced  he  would  have  laid 
down  his  life  sooner  than  the  bairn  or  she  had  come 
to  harm.  Interrogated,  what  prevented  him  from 
keeping  his  promise  ? Declares,  that  it  was  im- 
possible for  him  to  do  so,  he  being  under  trouble 
at  the  time,  and  declines  farther  answer  to  this 
question.  Interrogated,  where  she  was  from  the 
period  she  left  her  master,  Mr.  Saddletree's  family, 
until  her  appearance  at  her  father's,  at  St.  Leonard's, 
the  day  before  she  was  apprehended  ? Declares,  she 
does  not  remember.  And,  on  the  interrogatory 
being  repeated,  declares,  she  does  not  mind  muckle 
about  it,  for  she  was  very  ill.  On  the  question  be- 
ing again  repeated,  she  declares,  she  will  tell  the 
truth,  if  it  should  be  the  undoing  of  her,  so  long  as 
she  is  not  asked  to  tell  on  other  folk ; and  admits, 
that  she  passed  that  interval  of  time  in  the  lodging 
of  a woman,  an  acquaintance  of  that  person  who 


336 


TALES  OE  MY  LANDLORD. 


had  wished  her  to  that  place  to  be  delivered,  and 
that  she  was  there  delivered  accordingly  of  a male 
child.  ‘Interrogated,  what  was  the  name  of  that  per- 
son ? Declares. and  refuses  to  answer  this  question. 
Interrogated,  where  she  lives  ? Declares,  she  has 
no  certainty,  for  that  she  was  taken  to  the  lodging 
aforesaid  under  cloud  of  night.  Interrogated,  if  the 
lodging  was  in  the  city  or  suburbs  ? Declares  and 
refuses  to  answer  that  question.  Interrogated, 
whether,  when  she  left  the  house  of  Mr.  Saddle- 
tree, she  went  up  or  down  the  street  ? Declares 
and  refuses  to  answer  the  question.  Interrogated, 
whether  she  had  ever  seen  the  woman  before  she 
was  wished  to  her,  as  she  termed  it,  by  the  person 
whose  name  she  refuses  to  answer  ? Declares  and  re- 
plies, not  to  her  knowledge.  Interrogated,  whether 
this  woman  was  introduced  to  her  by  the  said  per- 
son verbally,  or  by  word  of  mouth  ? Declares  she  has 
no  freedom  to  answer  this  question.  Interrogated, 
if  the  child  was  alive  when  it  was  born  ? Declares, 
that  — God  help  her  and  it ! — it  certainly  was 
alive.  Interrogated,  if  it  died  a natural  death  after 
birth  ? Declares,  not  to  her  knowledge.  Interro- 
gated, where  it  now  is  ? Declares,  she  would  give 
her  right  hand  to  ken,  but  that  she  never  hopes 
to  see  mair  than  the  banes  of  it.  And  being  inter- 
rogated, why  she  supposes  it  is  now  dead  ? the 
declarant  wept  bitterly,  and  made  no  answer.  In- 
terrogated, if  the  woman,  in  whose  lodging  she 
was,  seemed  to  be  a fit  person  to  be  with  her  in 
that  situation  ? Declares,  she  might  be  fit  enough 
for  skill,  but  that  she  was  an  hard-hearted  bad  wo- 
man. Interrogated,  if  there  was  any  other  person 
in  the  lodging  excepting  themselves  two  ? De- 
clares, that  she  thinks  there  was  another  woman; 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN. 


337 


but  her  head  was  so  carried  with  pain  of  body  and 
trouble  of  mind,  that  she  minded  her  very  little. 
Interrogated,  when  the  child  was  taken  away  from 
her  ? Declared,  that  she  fell  in  a fever,  and  was 
light-headed,  and  when  she  came  to  her  own  mind, 
the  woman  told  her  the  bairn  was  dead ; and  that 
the  declarant  answered,  if  it  was  dead  it  had  had 
foul  play.  That,  thereupon,  the  woman  was  very 
sair  on  her,  and  gave  her  much  ill-language ; and 
that  the  deponent  was  frightened,  and  crawled  out 
of  the  house  when  her  back  was  turned,  and  went 
home  to  Saint  Leonard’s  Crags,  as  well  as  a woman 
in  her  condition  dought.1  Interrogated,  why  she 
did  not  tell  her  story  to  her  sister  and  father,  and 
get  force  to  search  the  house  for  her  child,  dead  or 
alive  ? Declares,  it  was  her  purpose  to  do  so,  but 
she  had  not  time.  Interrogated,  why  she  now  con- 
ceals the  name  of  the  woman,  and  the  place  of  her 
abode  ? The  declarant  remained  silent  for  a time, 
and  then  said,  that  to  do  so  could  not  repair  the 
skaith  that  was  done,  but  might  be  the  occasion  of 
more.  Interrogated,  whether  she  had  herself,  at 
any  time,  had  any  purpose  of  putting  away  the 
child  by  violence  ? Declares,  never  ; so  might  God 
be  merciful  to  her  — and  then  again  declares,  never, 
when  she  was  in  her  perfect  senses ; but  what  bad 
thoughts  the  Enemy  might  put  into  her  brain  when 
she  was  out  of  herself,  she  cannot  answer.  And 
again  solemnly  interrogated,  declares,  that  she 
would  have  been  drawn  with  wild  horses,  rather 
than  have  touched  the  bairn  with  an  unmotherly 
hand.  Interrogated,  declares,  that  among  the  ill- 
language  the  woman  gave  her,  she  did  say  sure 
enough  that  the  declarant  had  hurt  the  bairn  when 

1 i.  e.  was  able  to  do. 


338  TALES  OE  MY  LANDLORD. 

. 

she  was  in  the  brain-fever ; but  that  the  declarant 
does  not  believe  that  she  said  this  from  any  other 
cause  than  to  frighten  her;  and  make  her  be  silent. 
Interrogated,  what  else  the  woman  said  to  her? 
Declares,  that  when  the  declarant  cried  loud  for  her 
bairn,  and  was  like  to  raise  the  neighbours,  the 
woman  threatened  her,  that  they  that  could  stop 
the  wean’s  skirling  would  stop  hers,  if  she  did  not 
keep  a*  the  lounder.1  And  that  this  threat,  with 
the  manner  of  the  woman,  made  the  declarant  con- 
clude, that  the  bairn’s  life  was  gone,  and  her  own 
in  danger,  for  that  the  woman  was  a desperate  bad 
woman,  as  the  declarant  judged,  from  the  language 
she  used.  Interrogated,  declares,  that  the  fever  and 
delirium  were  brought  on  her  by  hearing  bad  news, 
suddenly  told  to  her,  but  refuses  to  say  what  the 
said  news  related  to.  Interrogated,  why  she  does  ; 
not  now  communicate  these  particulars,  which 
might,  perhaps,  enable  the  magistrate  to  ascertain 
whether  the  child  is  living  or  dead ; and  requested  , 
to  observe,  that  her  refusing  to  do  so  exposes  her 
own  life,  and  leaves  the  child  in  bad  hands ; as  also, 
that  her  present  refusal  to  answer  on  such  points,  is 
inconsistent  with  her  alleged  intention  to  make  a ' 
clean  breast  to  her  sister  ? Declares,  that  she 
kens  the  bairn  is  now  dead,  or,  if  living,  there  is  l 
one  that  will  look  after  it ; that  for  her  own  living 
or  dying,  she  is  in  God’s  hands,  who  knows  her 
innocence  of  harming  her  bairn  with  her  will  or 
knowledge ; and  that  she  has  altered  her  resolution 
of  speaking  out,  which  she  entertained  when  she 
left  the  woman’s  lodging,  on  account  of  a matter 
which  she  has  since  learned.  And  declares,  in  gen- 


1 i.  e the  quieter. 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN. 


339 


eral,  that  she  is  wearied,  and  will  answer  no  more 
questions  at  this  time.” 

Upon  a subsequent  examination,  Euphemia  Deans 
adhered  to  the  declaration  she  had  formerly  made, 
with  this  addition,  that  a paper  found  in  her  trunk 
being  shown  to  her,  she  admitted  that  it  contained 
the  credentials,  in  consequence  of  which  she  re- 
signed herself  to  the  conduct  of  the  woman  at 
whose  lodgings  she  was  delivered  of  the  child.  Its 
tenor  ran  thus  : — 

“ Dearest  Effie, — I have  gotten  the  means  to 
send  to  you  by  a woman  who  is  well  qualified  to  assist 
you  in  your  approaching  streight;  she  is  not  what  I 
could  wish  her,  but  I cannot  do  better  for  you  in  my 
present  condition.  1 am  obliged  to  trust  to  her  in  this 
present  calamity,  for  myself  and  you  too.  I hope  for 
the  best,  though  I am  now  in  a sore  pinch;  yet  thought 
is  free  — I think  Handie  Dandie  and  I may  queer  the 
stiller1  for  all  that  is  come  and  gone.  You  will  be 
angry  for  me  writing  this,  to  my  little  Cameronian 
Lily;  but  if  I can  but  live  to  be  a comfort  to  you,  and 
a father  to  your  babie,  you  will  have  plenty  of  time  to 
scold.  — Once  more  let  none  know  your  counsel  — my 
life  depends  on  this  hag,  d — n her  — she  is  both  deep 
and  dangerous,  but  she  has  more  wiles  and  wit  than 
ever  were  in  a beldam’s  head,  and  has  cause  to  be 
true  to  me.  Farewell,  my  Lily  — Do  not  droop  on 
my  account  — in  a week  I will  be  yours,  or  no  more 
my  own.” 

Then  followed  a postscript: 

u If  they  must  truss  me,  I will  repent  of  nothing  so 
much,  even  at  the  last  hard  pinch,  as  of  the  injury  I 
have  done  my  Lily.” 

1 Avoid  the  gallows. 


340 


TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 


Effie  refused  to  say  from  whom  she  had  received 
this  letter,  but  enough  of  the  story  was  now  known, 
to  ascertain  that  it  came  from  Robertson ; and  from 
the  date,  it  appeared  to  have  been  written  about  the 
time  when  Andrew  Wilson  (called  for  a nickname 
Handie  Dandie)  and  he  were  meditating  their  first 
abortive  attempt  to  escape,  which  miscarried  in  the 
manner  mentioned  in  the  beginning  of  this  history. 

The  evidence  of  the  Crown  being  concluded,  the 
counsel  for  the  prisoner  began  to  lead  a proof  in 
her  defence.  The  first  witnesses  were  examined 
upon  the  girl’s  character.  All  gave  her  an  excel- 
lent one,  but  none  with  more  feeling  than  worthy 
Mrs.  Saddletree,  who,  with  the  tears  on  her  cheeks, 
declared,  that  she  could  not  have  had  a higher 
opinion  of  Effie  Deans,  nor  a more  sincere  regard 
for  her,  if  she  had  been  her  own  daughter.  All 
present  gave  the  honest  woman  credit  for  her  good- 
ness of  heart,  excepting  her  husband,  who  whispered 
to  Dumbiedikes,  “That  Mchil  Novit  of  yours  is  , 
but  a raw  hand  at  leading  evidence,  I’m  thinking. 
What  signified  his  bringing  a woman  here  to  snotter 
and  snivel,  and  bather  their  Lordships  ? He  should 
hae  ceeted  me,  sir,  and  I should  hae  gien  them  sic  a 
screed  o’  testimony,  they  shouldna  hae  touched  a 
hair  o’  her  head.” 

“ Hadna  ye  better  get  up  and  try’t  yet  ? ” said  the 
Laird.  “ I’ll  mak  a sign  to  Novit.” 

“ Na,  na,”  said  Saddletree,  “ thank  ye  for  naething, 
neighbour  — that  would  be  ultroneous  evidence,  and 
I ken  what  b.elangs  to  that;  but  Mchil  Novit  suld 
hae  had  me  ceeted  debito  tempore”  And  wiping  his 
mouth  with  his  silk  handkerchief  with  great  impor- 
tance, he  resumed  the  port  and  manner  of  an  edified 
and  intelligent  auditor. 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN. 


34i 


Mr.  Fairbrother  now  premised,  in  a few  words, 
'that  he  meant  to  bring  forward  his  most  impor- 
tant witness,  upon  whose  evidence  the  cause  must 
in  a great  measure  depend.  What  his  client  was, 
they  had  learned  from  the  preceding  witnesses ; and 
so  far  as  general  character,  given  in  the  most  forcible 
terms,  and  even  with  tears,  could  interest  every  one 
in  her  fate,  she  had  already  gained  that  advantage. 
It  was  necessary,  he  admitted,  that  he  should  pro- 
duce more  positive  testimony  of  her  innocence  than 
what  arose  out  of  general  character,  and  this  he 
undertook  to  do  by  the  mouth  of  the  person  to 
whom  she  had  communicated  her  situation  — by 
the  mouth  of  her  natural  counsellor  and  guardian  — 
her  sister.  — Macer,  call  into  court,  Jean,  or  Jeanie 
Deans,  daughter  of  David  Deans,  cow-feeder,  at 
Saint  Leonard’s  Crags.” 

When  he  uttered  these  words,  the  poor  prisoner 
instantly  started  up,  and  stretched  herself  half-way 
over  the  bar,  towards  the  side  at  which  her  sister 
was  to  enter.  \ And  when,  slowly  following  the 
officer,  the  witness  advanced  to  the  foot  of  the 
table,  Effie,  with  the  whole  expression  of  her  coun- 
tenance altered,  from  that  of  confused  sham,e  and 
dismay,  to  an  eager,  imploring,  and  almost  ecstatic 
earnestness  of  entreaty,  with  outstretched  hands, 
hair  streaming  back,  eyes  raised  eagerly  to  her 
sister’s  face,  and  glistening  through  tears,  ex- 
claimed, in  a tone  which  went  through  the  heart 
of  all  who  heard  her  — “0  Jeanie,  Jeanie,  save 
me,  save  me  ! ’17 

With  a different  feeling,  yet  equally  appropriated 
to  his  proud  and  self-dependent  character,  old  Deans 
drew  himself  back  still  farther  under  the  cover  of 
the  bench ; so  that  when  J eanie,  as  she  entered  the 


342 


TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 


court,  cast  a timid  glance  towards  the  place  at  which 
she  had  left  him  seated,  his  venerable  figure  was  no 
longer  visible.  He  sate  down  on  the  other  side  of 
Dumbiedikes,  wrung  his  hand  hard,  and  whispered, 

“ Ah,  Laird,  this  is  warst  of  a’  — if  I can  but  win 
ower  this  part  — I feel  my  head  unca  dizzy;  but 
my  Master  is  strong  in  his  servant’s  weakness.” 
After  a moment’s  mental  prayer,  he  again  started 
up,  as  if  impatient  of  continuing  in  any  one  pos- 
ture, and  gradually  edged  himself  forward  towards 
the  place  he  had  just  quitted. 

Jeanie  in  the  meantime  had  advanced  to  the 
bottom  of  the  table,  when,  unable  to  resist  the  im- 
pulse of  affection,  she  suddenly  extended  her  hand 
to  her  sister.  Effie  was  just  within  the  distance 
that  she  could  seize  it  with  both  hers,  press  it  to 
her  mouth,  cover  it  with  kisses,  and  bathe  it  in 
tears,  with  the  fond  devotion  that  a Catholic  would  : 
pay  to  a guardian  saint  descended  for  his  safety ; 
while  Jeanie,  hiding  her  own  face  with  her  other  ' 
hand,  wept  bitterly.  The  sight  would  have  moved 
a heart  of  stone,  much  more  of  flesh  and  blood. 
Many  of  the  spectators  shed  tears,  and  it  was  some 
time. before  the  presiding  Judge  himself  could  so 
far  subdue  his  emotion,  as  to  request  the  witness  \ 
to  compose  herself,  and  the  prisoner  to  forbear ; 
those  marks  of  eager  affection,  which,  however : 
natural,  could  not  be  permitted  at  that  time,  and 
in  that  presence. 

The  solemn  oath,  — “the  truth  to  tell,  and  no 
truth  to  conceal,  as  far  as  she  knew  or  should  be 
asked,”  was  then  administered  by  the  Judge  “in 
the  name  of  God,  and  as  the  witness  should  answer 
to  God  at  the  great  day  of  judgment ; ” an  awful 
adjuration,  which  seldom  fails  to  make  impression 


T1IE  HEART  OE  MID-LOTHIAN. 


343 


even  on  the  most  hardened  characters,  and  to  strike 
with  fear  even  the  most  upright.  Jeanie,  educated 
in  deep  and  devout  reverence  for  the  name  and 
attributes  of  the  Deity',  was,  by  the  solemnity  of  a 
direct  appeal  to  his  person  and  justice,  awed,  but 
at  the  same  time  elevated  above  all  considerations, 
save  those  which  she  could,  with  a clear  conscience, 
call  him  to  witness.  She  repeated  the  form  in  a 
low  and  reverent,  but  distinct  tone  of  voice,  after 
the  Judge,  to  whom,  and  not  to  any  inferior  officer 
of  the  court,  the  task  is  assigned  in  Scotland  of 
directing  the  witness  in  that  solemn  appeal,  which 
is  the  sanction  of  his  testimony. 

When  the  Judge  had  finished  the  established 
form,  lie  added  in  a feeling,  but  yet  a monitory 
tone,  an  advice,  which  the  circumstances  appeared 
to  him  to  call  for. 

“ Young  woman,”  these  were  his  words,  “ you 
come  before  this  Court  in  circumstances,  which  it 
would  be  worse  than  cruel  not  to  pity  and  to  sym- 
pathize with.  Yet  it  is  my  duty  to  tell  you,  that 
the  truth,  whatever  its  consequences  may  be,  the 
truth  is  what  you  owe  to  your  country,  and  to  that 
God  whose  word  is  truth,  and  whose  name  you 
have  now  invoked.  Use  your  own  time  in  answer- 
ing the  questions  that  gentleman”  (pointing  to  the 
counsel)  “ shall  put  to  you  — But  remember,  that 
what  you  may  be  tempted  to  say  beyond  what  is 
the  actual  truth,  you  must  answer  both  here  and 
hereafter.” 

The  usual  questions  were  then  put  to  her : — 
Whether  any  one  had  instructed  her  what  evidence 
she  had  to  deliver?  Whether  any  one  had  given 
or  promised  her  any  good  deed,  hire,  or  reward, 
for  her  testimony  ? Whether  she  had  any  malice 


344 


TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 


or  ill-will  at  his  Majesty's  Advocate,  being  the 
party  against  whom  she  was  cited  as  a witness  ? 
To  which  questions  she  successively  answered  by  a 
quiet  negative.  But  their  tenor  gave  great  scan- 
dal and  offence  to  her  father,  who  was  not  aware 
that  they  are  put  to  every  witness  as  a matter  of 
form. 

“ Na,  na,"  he  exclaimed,  loud  enough  to  be  heard, 

“ my  bairn  is  no  like  the  widow  of  Tekoah  — nae 
man  has  putten  words  into  her  mouth." 

One  of  the  Judges,  better  acquainted,  perhaps, 
with  the  Books  of  Adjournal  than  with  the  Book 
of  Samuel,  was  disposed  to  make  some  instant  en- 
quiry after  this  Widow  of  Tekoah,  who,  as  he  con- 
strued the  matter,  had  been  tampering  with  the 
evidence.  But  the  presiding  Judge,  better  versed 
in  Scripture  history,  whispered  to  his  learned  bro- 
ther the  necessary  explanation ; and  the  pause  ! 
occasioned  by  this  mistake,  had  the  good  effect  of 
giving  Jeanie  Deans  time  to  collect  her  spirits  for  ' 
the  painful  task  she  had  to  perform. 

Fairbrother,  whose  practice  and  intelligence  were 
considerable,  saw  the  necessity  of  letting  the  wit- 
ness compose  herself.  In  his  heart  he  suspected 

that  she  came  to  bear  false  witness  in  her  sister’s 

■ 

cause. 

“ But  that  is  her  own  affair,"  thought  Fairbro- , 
ther ; “and  it  is  my  business  to  see  that  she  has 
plenty  of  time  to  regain  composure,  and  to  deliver 
her  evidence,  be  it  true,  or  be  it  false  — valeat 
quantum ” 

Accordingly,  he  commenced  his  interrogatories 
with  uninteresting  questions,  which  admitted  of 
instant  reply. 

“You  are,  I think,  the  sister  of  the  prisoner?” 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN. 


345 


“ Yes,  sir.” 

“ Not  the  full  sister,  however  ? ” 

“ No,  sir  — we  are  by  different  mothers.” 

“ True ; and  you  are,  I think,  several  years  older 
than  your  sister  ? ” 

“ Yes,  sir,”  &c. 

After  the  advocate  had  conceived  that,  by  these 
preliminary  and  unimportant  questions,  he  had 
familiarized  the  witness  with  the  situation  in  which 
she  stood,  he  asked,  “ whether  she  had  not  remarked 
her  sister’s  state  of  health  to  be  altered,  during 
the  latter  part  of  the  term  when  she  had  lived 
with  Mrs.  Saddletree  ? ” 

Jeanie  answered  in  the  affirmative. 

“ And  she  told  you  the  cause  of  it,  my  dear,  I 
suppose?”  said  Fairbrother,  in  an  easy,  and,  as  one 
may  say,  an  inductive  sort  of  tone. 

“ I am  sorry  to  interrupt  my  brother,”  said  the 
Crown  Counsel,  rising,  “ but  I am  in  your  Lord- 
ships’  judgment,  whether  this  be  not  a leading 
question  ? ” 

“ If  this  point  is  to  be  debated,”  said  the  presi- 
ding Judge,  “the  witness  must  be  removed.” 

For  the  Scottish  lawyers  regard  with  a sacred 
and  scrupulous  horror,  every  question  so  shaped 
by  the  counsel  examining,  as  to  convey  to  a witness 
the  least  intimation  of  the  nature  of  the  answer 
which  is  desired  from  him.  These  scruples,  though 
founded  on  an  excellent  principle,  are  sometimes 
carried  to  an  absurd  pitch  of  nicety,  especially  as 
it  is  generally  easy  for  a lawyer  who  has  his  wits 
about  him  to  elude  the  objection.  Fairbrother  did 
so  in  the  present  case. 

“It  is  not  necessary  to  waste  the  time  of  the 
Court,  my  Lord;  since  the  King’s  Counsel  thinks 


346 


TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 


it  worth  while  to  object  to  the  form  of  my  ques- 
tion, I will  shape  it  otherwise.  — Pray,  young  wo- 
man, did  you  ask  your  sister  any  question  when 
you  observed  her  looking  unwell  ? — take  courage 

— speak  out  ” 

“I  asked  her,”  replied  Jeanie,  “ what  ailed  her” 

“ Very  well  — take  your  own  time  — and  what  was 
the  answer  she  made  ? ” continued  Mr  Fairbrother. 

Jeanie  was  silent,  and  looked  deadly  pale.  It 
was  not  that  she  at  any  one  instant  entertained  an 
idea  of  the  possibility  of  prevarication  — it  was  the 
natural  hesitation  to  extinguish  the  last  spark  of 
hope  that  remained  for  her  sister. 

“Take  courage,  young  woman,”  said  Fairbro- 
ther. — “I  asked  what  your  sister  said  ailed  her 
when  you  enquired  ? ” 

“Nothing,”  answered  Jeanie,  with  a faint  voice,  ; 
which  was  yet  heard  distinctly  in  the  most  distant 
corner  of  the  Court-room, — such  an  awful  and  pro- 
found silence  had  been  preserved  during  the  anxious  : 
interval,  which  had  interposed  betwixt  the  lawyer’s 
question  and  the  answer  of  the  witness. 

Fairbrother’s  countenance  fell;  but  with  that 
ready  presence  of  mind,  which  is  as  useful  in  civil 
as  in  military  emergencies,  he  immediately  rallied. 

— “Nothing?  True;  you  mean  nothing  at  first  — 
but  when  you  asked  her  again,  did  she  not  tell  you 
what  ailed  her  ? ” 

The  question  was  put  in  a tone  meant  to  make 
her  comprehend  the  importance  of  her  answer,  had 
she  not  been  already  aware  of  it.  The  ice  was 
broken,  however,  and,  with  less  pause  than  at  first, 
she  now  replied,  — “ Alack  ! alack  ! she  never 
breathed  word  to  me  about  it.” 

A deep  groan  passed  through  the  Court.  It  was 


THE  HEART  OE  MID-LOTIIIAN. 


347 


echoed  by  one  deeper  and  more  agonized  from  the 
unfortunate  father.  The  hope,  to  which  uncon- 
sciously, and  in  spite  of  himself,  he  had  still  secretly 
clung,  had  now  dissolved,  and  the  venerable  old  man 
fell  forward  senseless  on  the  door  of  the  Court-house, 
with  his  head  at  the  foot  of  his  terrified  daughter. 
The  unfortunate  prisoner,  with  impotent  passion, 
strove  with  the  guards,  betwixt  whom  she  was 
placed.  “ Let  me  gang  to  my  father ! — I will  gang 
to  him  — T will  gang  to  him  — he  is  dead  — he  is 
killed  — I hae  killed  him  ! ” — she  repeated  in  fren- 
zied tones  of  grief,  which  those  who  heard  them  did 
not  speedily  forget. 

Even  in  this  moment  of  agony  and  general  con- 
fusion, Jeanie  did  not  lose  that  superiority,  which  a 
deep  and  firm  mind  assures  to  its  possessor,  under 
the  most  trying  circumstances. 

“ He  is  my  father  — he  is  our  father,”  she  mildly 
repeated  to  those  who  endeavoured  to  separate  them, 
as  she  stooped,  — shaded  aside  his  grey  hairs,  and 
began  assiduously  to  chafe  his  temples. 

The  Judge,  after  repeatedly  wiping  his  eyes,  gave 
directions  that  they  should  be  conducted  into  a 
neighbouring  apartment,  and  carefully  attended. 
The  prisoner,  as  her  father  was  borne  from  the 
Court,  and  her  sister  slowly  followed,  pursued  them 
with  her  eyes  so  earnestly  fixed,  as  if  they  would 
have  started  from  their  socket.  But  when  they 
were  no  longer  visible,  she  seemed  to  find,  in  her 
despairing  and  deserted  state,  a courage  which  she 
had  not  yet  exhibited. 

“ The  bitterness  of  it  is  now  past,”  she  said,  and 
then  boldly  addressed  the  Court.  “ My  Lords,  if  it 
is  your  pleasure  to  gang  on  wi’  this  matter,  the 
weariest  day  will  hae  its  end  at  last  ” 


348 


TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 


The  Judge,  who,  much  to  his  honour,  had  shared 
deeply  in  the  general  sympathy,  was  surprised  at 
being  recalled  to  his  duty  by  the  prisoner.  He  col- 
lected himself,  and  requested  to  know  if  the  panel's 
counsel  had  more  evidence  to  produce.  Fairbrother 
replied,  with  an  air  of  dejection,  that  his  proof  was 
concluded. 

The  King's  Counsel  addressed  the  jury  for  the 
crown.  He  said  in  few  words,  that  no  one  could 
be  more  concerned  than  he  was  for  the  distressing 
scene  which  they  had  just  witnessed.  But  it  was 
the  necessary  consequence  of  great  crimes  to  bring 
distress  and  ruin  upon  all  connected  with  the  per- 
petrators. He  briefly  reviewed  the  proof,  in  which 
he  showed  that  all  the  circumstances  of  the  case 
concurred  with  those  required  by  the  act  under 
which  the  unfortunate  prisoner  was  tried  : That  the  j 
counsel  for  the  panel  had  totally  failed  in  proving, 
that  Euphemia  Deans  had  communicated  her  situa-, 
tion  to  her  sister:  That,  respecting  her  previous; 
good  character,  he  was  sorry  to  observe,  that  it  was 
females  who  possessed  the  world’s  good  report,  and 
to  whom  it  was  justly  valuable,  who  were  most 
strongly  tempted,  by  shame  and  fear  of  the  world’s, 
censure,  to  the  crime  of  infanticide : That  the  child 
was  murdered,  he  professed  to  entertain  no  doubt.* 
The  vacillating  and  inconsistent  declaration  of  the* 
prisoner  herself,  marked  as  it  was  by  numerous  re-; 
fusals  to  speak  the  truth  on  subjects,  when,  accord- 
ing to  her  own  story,  it  would  have  been  natural,  as 
well  as  advantageous,  to  have  been  candid ; even 
this  imperfect  declaration  left  no  doubt  in  his  mind 
as  to  the  fate  of  the  unhappy  infant.  Neither  could 
he  doubt  that  the  panel  was  a partner  in  this  guilt. 
Who  else  had  an  interest  in  a deed  so  inhuman  ? 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN. 


349 


Surely  neither  Robertson,  nor  Robertson’s  agent,  in 
whose  house  she  was  delivered,  had  the  least  temp- 
tation to  commit  such  a crime,  unless  upon  her  ac- 
count, with  her  connivance,  and  for  the  sake  of  sav- 
ing her  reputation.  But  it  was  not  required  of  him, 
by  the  law,  that  he  should  bring  precise  proof  of  the 
murder,  or  of  the  prisoner’s  accession  to  it.  It  was 
the  very  purpose  of  the  statute  to  substitute  a cer- 
tain chain  of  presumptive  evidence  in  place  of  a pro- 
bation, which,  in  such  cases,  it  was  peculiarly  diffi- 
cult to  obtain.  The  jury  might  peruse  the  statute 
itself,  and  they  had  also  the  libel  and  interlocutor  of 
relevancy  to  direct  them  in  point  of  law.  He  put  it 
to  the  conscience  of  the  jury,  that  under  both  he 
was  entitled  to  a verdict  of  Guilty. 

The  charge  of  Fairbrother  was  much  cramped  by 
his  having  failed  in  the  proof  which  he  expected  to 
lead.  But  he  fought  his  losing  cause  with  courage 
and  constancy.  He  ventured  to  arraign  the  sever- 
ity of  the  statute  under  which  the  young  woman 
was  tried.  “ In  all  other  cases,”  he  said,  “ the  first 
thing  required  of  the  criminal  prosecutor  was,  to 
prove  unequivocally  that  the  crime  libelled  had 
actually  been  committed,  which  lawyers  called  prov- 
ing the  corpus  delicti . But  this  statute,  made 
doubtless  with  the  best  intentions,  and  under  the 
impulse  of  a just  horror  for  the  unnatural  crime  of 
infanticide,  run  the  risk  of  itself  occasioning  the 
worst  of  murders,  the  death  of  an  innocent  person, 
to  atone  for  a supposed  crime  which  may  never 
have  been  committed  by  any  one.  He  was  so  far 
from  acknowledging  the  alleged  probability  of  the 
child’s  violent  death,  that  he  could  not  even  allow 
that  there  was  evidence  of  its  having  ever  lived.” 

The  King’s  Counsel  pointed  to  the  woman's  de- 


35° 


TALES  OE  MY  LANDLORD. 


claration  ; to  which  the  counsel  replied  — “ A pro 
duction  concocted  in  a moment  of  terror  and  agony, 
and  which  approached  to  insanity,”  he  said,  “ his 
learned  brother  well  knew  was  no  sound  evidence 
against  the  party  who  emitted  it.  It  was  true,  that 
a judicial  confession,  in  presence  of  the  Justices 
themselves,  was  the  strongest  of  all  proof,  in  so  much 
that  it  is  said  in  law,  that  4 in  eonfitentem  nullce  sunt 
partes  judicis .’  But  this  was  true  of  judicial  confes- 
sion only,  by  which  law  meant  that  which  is  made 
in  presence  of  the  justices,  and  the  sworn  inquest. 
Of  extrajudicial  confession,  all  authorities  held  with 
the  illustrious  Farinaceus,  and  Matheus,  4 confessio  ex- 
trajudicialis  in  se  .nulla  est ; et  quod  nullum  est,non 
potest  adminiculari'  It  was  totally  inept,  and  void 
of  all  strength  and  effect  from  the  beginning ; incap- 
able,  therefore,  of  being  bolstered  up  or  supported, 
or,  according  to  the  law-phrase,  adminiculated,  by 
other  presumptive  circumstances.  In  the  present 
case,  therefore,  letting  the  extrajudicial  confession 
go,  as  it  ought  to  go,  for  nothing,”  he  contended, 
44  the  prosecutor  had  not  made  out  the  second  quality 
of  the  statute,  that  a live  child  had  been  born  ; and 
that , at  least,  ought  to  be  established  before  pre- 
sumptions were  received  that  it  had  been  murdered. 
If  any  of  the  assize,”  he  said,  44  should  be  of  opin- 
ion that  this  was  dealing  rather  narrowly  with  the 
statute,  they  ought  to  consider  that  it  was  in  its 
nature  highly  penal,  and  therefore  entitled  to  no 
favourable  construction.” 

He  concluded  a learned  speech,  with  an  eloquent 
peroration  on  the  scene  they  had  just  witnessed, 
during  which  Saddletree  fell  fast  asleep. 

It  wTas  now  the  presiding  Judge’s  turn  to  address 
the  jury.  He  did  so  briefly^  and  distinctly. 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN.  351 

“It  was  for  tlie  jury,”  he  said,  “to  consider 
whether  the  prosecutor  had  made  out  his  plea.  For 
himself,  he  sincerely  grieved  to  say,  that  a shadow 
of  doubt  remained  not  upon  his  mind  concerning 
the  verdict  which  the  inquest  had  to  bring  in.  He 
would  not  follow  the  prisoner’s  counsel  through  the 
impeachment  which  he  had  brought  against  the 
statute  of  King  William  and  Queen  Mary.  He 
and  the  jury  were  sworn  to  judge  according  to  the 
laws  as  they  stood,  not  to  criticise,  or  to  evade,  or 
even  to  justify  them.  In  no  civil  case  would  a 
counsel  have  been  permitted  to  plead  his  client’s 
case  in  the  teeth  of  the  law ; but  in  the  hard  situa- 
tion in  which  counsel  were  often  placed  in  the 
Criminal  Court,  as  well  as  out  of  favour  to  all  pre- 
sumptions of  innocence,  he  had  not  inclined  to  in- 
terrupt the  learned  gentleman,  or  narrow  his  plea. 
The  present  law,  as  it  now  stood,  had  been  instituted 
by  the  wisdom  of  their  fathers,  to  check  the  alarm- 
ing progress  of  a dreadful  crime ; when  it  was  found 
too  severe  for  its  purpose,  it  would  doubtless  be 
altered  by  the  wisdom  of  the  legislature ; at  present 
it  was  the  law  of  the  land,  the  rule  of  the  court, 
and,  according  to  the  oath  which  they  had  taken, 
it  must  be  that  of  the  jury.  This  unhappy  girl’s 
situation  could  not  be  doubted ; that  she  had  borne 
a child,  and  that  the  child  had  disappeared,  were 
certain  facts.  The  learned  counsel  had  failed  to 
show  that  she  had  communicated  her  situation. 
All  the  requisites  of  the  case  required  by  the  stat- 
ute were  therefore  before  the  jury.  The  learned 
gentleman  had,  indeed,  desired  them  to  throw  out 
of  consideration  the  panel’s  own  confession,  which 
was  the  plea  usually  urged,  in  penury  of  all  others, 
by  counsel  in  his  situation,  who  usually  felt  that 


352 


TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 


the  declarations  of  their  clients  bore  hard  on  them, 
But  that  the  Scottish  law  designed  that  a certain 
weight  should  be  laid  on  these  declarations,  which, 
he  admitted,  were  quodammodo  extrajudicial,  was 
evident  from  the  universal  practice  by  which  they 
were  always  produced  and  read,  as  part  of  the  pro- 
secutor’s probation.  In  the  present  case,  no  person, 
who  had  heard  the  witnesses  describe  the  appear- 
ance of  the  young  woman  before  she  left  Saddle- 
tree’s house,  and  contrasted  it  with  that  of  her  state 
and  condition  at  her  return  to  her  father’s,  could 
have  any  doubt  that  the  fact  of  delivery  had  taken 
place,  as  set  forth  in  her  own  declaration,  which 
was,  therefore,  not  a solitary  piece  of  testimony, 
but  adminiculated  and  supported  by  the  strongest 
circumstantial  proof. 

“ He  did  not,”  he  said,  “ state  the  impression 
upon  his  own  mind  with  the  purpose  of  biassing 
theirs.  He  had  felt  no  less  than  they  had  done 
from  the  scene  of  domestic  misery  which  had  been 
exhibited  before  them;  and  if  they,  having  God 
and  a good  conscience,  the  sanctity  of  their  oath, 
and  the  regard  due  to  the  law  of  the  country,  be- 
fore their  eyes,  could  come  to  a conclusion  favour- 
able to  this  unhappy  prisoner,  he  should  rejoice  as 
much  as  any  one  in  Court ; for  never  had  he  found 
his  duty  more  distressing  than  in  discharging  it 
that  day,  and  glad  he  would  be  to  be  relieved  from 
the  still  more  painful  task,  which  would  otherwise 
remain  for  him.” 

The  jury,  having  heard  the  Judge’s  address, 
bowed  and  retired,  preceded  by  a macer  of  Court, 
to  the  apartment  destined  for  their  deliberation. 


I 


CHAPTER  XXIY. 


Law,  take  thy  victim  — May  she  find  the  mercy 
In  yon  mild  heaven,  which  this  hard  world  denies  her ! 


It  was  an  hour  ere  the  jurors  returned,  and  as  they 
traversed  the  crowd  with  slow  steps,  as  men  about 
to  discharge  themselves  of  a heavy  and  painful 
responsibility,  the  audience  was  hushed  into  pro- 
found, earnest,  and  awfu'  silence. 

“Have  you  agreed  on  our  chancellor,  gentle- 
men ?”  was  the  first  question  of  the  Judge. 

The  foreman,  called  in  Scotland  the  chancellor  of 
the  jury,  usually  the  man  of  best  rank  and  estima- 
tion among  the  assizers,  stepped  forward,  and,  with 
a low  reverence,  delivered  to  the  Court  a sealed 
paper,  containing  the  verdict,  which,  until  of  late 
years,  that  verbal  returns  are  in  some  instances 
permitted,  was  always  couched  in  writing.  The 
jury  remained  standing  while  the  Judge  broke  the 
seals,  and,  having  perused  the  paper,  handed  it, 
with  an  air  of  mournful  gravity,  down  to  the  Clerk 
of  Court,  who  proceeded  to  engross  in  the  record 
the  yet  unknown  verdict,  of  which,  however,  all 
omened  the  tragical  contents.  A form  still  re- 
mained, trifling  and  unimportant  in  itself,  but  to 
which  imagination  adds  a sort  of  solemnity,  from 
the  awful  occasion  upon  which  it  is  used.  A lighted 
candle  was  placed  on  the  table,  the  original  paper 
containing  the  verdict  was  enclosed  in  a sheet  of 
paper,  and,  sealed  with  the  Judge’s  own  signet,  was 


354 


TALES  OE  MY  LANDLORD. 


transmitted  to  the  Crown  Office,  to  be  preserved 
among  other  records  of  the  same  kind.  As  all  this 
is  transacted  in  profound  silence,  the  producing  and 
extinguishing  the  candle  seems  a type  of  the  human 
spark  which  is  shortly  afterwards  doomed  to  be 
quenched,  and  excites  in  the  spectators  something 
of  the  same  effect  which  in  England  is  obtained  by 
the  Judge  assuming  the  fatal  cap  of  judgment. 
When  these  preliminary  forms  had  been  gone 
through,  the  Judge  required  Euphemia  Deans  to 
attend  to  the  verdict  to  be  read. 

After  the  usual  words  of  style,  the  verdict  set 
forth,  that  the  Jury  having  made  choice  of  John 
Kirk,  Esq.  to  be  their  chancellor,  and  Thomas 
Moore,  merchant,  to  be  their  clerk,  did,  by  a plu- 
rality of  voices,  find  the  said  Euphemia  Deans 
Guilty  of  the  crime  libelled;  but,  in  considera-  i 
tion  of  her  extreme  youth,  and  the  cruel  circum- 
tances  of  her  case,  did  earnestly  entreat  that  the 
Judge  would  recommend  her  to  the  mercy  of  the 
Crown. 

“ Gentlemen,  ” said  the  Judge,  “ you  have  done 
your  duty  — and  a painful  one  it  must  have  been  to  ; 
men  of  humanity  like  you.  I will,  undoubtedly,  i 
transmit  your  recommendation  to  the  throne.  But  j 
it  is  my  duty  to  tell  all  who  now  hear  me,  but  < 
especially  to  inform  that  unhappy  young  woman, 
in  order  that  her  mind  may  be  settled  accordingly,  I 
that  I have  not  the  least  hope  of  a pardon  being 
granted  in  the  present  case.  You  know  the  crime 
has  been  increasing  in  this  land,  and  I know  far- 
ther, that  this  has  been  ascribed  to  the  lenity  in 
which  the  laws  have  been  exercised,  and  that  there 
is  therefore  no  hope  whatever  of  obtaining  a remis- 
sion for  this  offence/’  The  jury  bowed  again,  and, 


TIIE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN. 


355 


released  from  their  painful  office,  dispersed  them- 
selves among  the  mass  of  bystanders. 

The  Court  then  asked  Mr.  Fairbrother,  whether 
he  had  any  thing  to  say,  why  judgment  should  not 
follow  on  the  verdict  ? The  counsel  had  spent 
some  time  in  perusing  and  reperusing  the  verdict, 
counting  the  letters  in  each  juror’s  name,  and  weigh- 
ing every  phrase,  nay  every  syllable,  in  the  nicest 
scales  of  legal  criticism.  But  the  clerk  of  the  jury 
had  understood  his  business  too  well.  No  flaw  was 
to  be  found,  and  Fairbrother  mournfully  intimated 
that  he  had  nothing  to  say  in  arrest  of  judgment. 

The  presiding  Judge  then  addressed  the  unhappy 
prisoner: — “Euphemia  Deans,  attend  to  the  sen- 
tence of  the  Court  now  to  be  pronounced  against 
you.” 

She  rose  from  her  seat,  and,  with  a composure 
far  greater  than  could  have  been  augured  from  her 
demeanour  during  some  parts  of  the  trial,  abode 
the  conclusion  of  the  awful  scene.  So  nearly  does 
the  mental  portion  of  our  feelings  resemble  those 
which  are  corporal,  that  the  first  severe  blows 
which  we  receive  bring  with  them  a stunning  apa- 
thy, which  renders  us  indifferent  to  those  that  fol- 
low them.  Thus  said  Mandrin,  when  he  was 
undergoing  the  punishment  of  the  wheel ; and  so 
have  all  felt,  upon  whom  successive  inflictions  have 
descended  with  continuous  and  reiterated  violence. 

“ Young  woman,”  said  the  Judge,  “ it  is  my 
painful  duty  to  tell  you,  that  your  life  is  forfeited 
under  a law,  which,  if  it  may  seem  in  some  degree 
severe,  is  yet  wisely  so,  to  render  those  of  your 
unhappy  situation  aware  what  risk  they  run,  by 
concealing,  out  of  pride  or  false  shame,  their  lapse 
from  virtue,  and  making  no  preparation  to  save 


356  TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD, 

the  lives  of  the  unfortunate  infants  whom  they  are 
to  bring  into  the  world.  When  you  concealed 
your  situation  from  your  mistress,  your  sister,  and 
other  worthy  and  compassionate  persons  of  your 
own  sex,  in  whose  favour  your  former  conduct  had 
given  you  a fair  place,  you  seem  to  me  to  have  had 
in  your  contemplation,  at  least,  the  death  of  the 
helpless  creature,  for  whose  life  you  neglected  to 
provide.  How  the  child  was  disposed  of  — - whether 
it  was  dealt  upon  by  another,  or  by  yourself  — 
whether  the  extraordinary  story  you  have  told  is 
partly  false,  or  altogether  so,  is  between  God  and 
your  own  conscience.  I will  not  aggravate  your 
distress  by  pressing  on  that  topic,  but  I do  most 
solemnly  adjure  you  to  employ  the  remaining  space  * 
of  your  time  in  making  your  peace  with  God,  for 
which  purpose  such  reverend  clergyman,  as  you  \ 
yourself  may  name,  shall  have  access  to  you.  Not- 
withstanding the  humane  recommendation  of  the  j 
jury,  I cannot  afford  to  you,  in  the  present  circum-  ; 
stances  of  the  country,  the  slightest  hope  that  your 
life  will  be  prolonged  beyond  the  period  assigned  for 
the  execution  of  your  sentence.  Forsaking,  there-  : 
fore,  the  thoughts  of  this  world,  let  your  mind  be  j 
prepared  by  repentance  for  those  of  more  awful 
moments  — for  death,  judgment,  and  sternity. — 
Doomster  f read  the  sentence.5'1 

When  the  Doomster  showed  himself,  a tall  hag  * 
gard  figure,  arrayed  in  a fantastic  garment  of  black 
and  grey,  passmented  with  silver  lace,  all  fell  back 
with  a sort  of  instinctive  horror,  and  made  wide  way 
for  him -to  approach  the  foot  of  the  table.  As  this 
office  was  held  by  the  common  executioner,  men 
shouldered  each  other  backward  to  avoid  even  the 
1 Note  XIV.  — Doomster,  or  Dempster,  of  Court. 


THE  HEART  OE  MID-LOTHIAN. 


357 


touch  of  liis  garment,  and  some  were  seen  to  brush 
their  own  clothes,  which  had  accidentally  become 
subject  to  such  contamination.  A sound  went 
through  the  court,  produced  by  each  person  draw- 
ing in  t£Sir  breath  hard,  as  men  do  when  they  ex- 
pect or  witness  what  is  frightful,  and  at  the  same 
time  affecting.  The  caitiff  villain  yet  seemed,  amid 
his  hardened  brutality,  to  have  some  sense  of  his 
being  the  object  of  public  detestation,  which  made 
him  impatient  of  being  in  public,  as  birds  of  evil 
omen  are  anxious  to  escape  from  daylight,  and  from 
pure  air. 

Repeating  after  the  Clerk  of  Court,  he  gabbled 
over  the  words  of  the  sentence,  which  condemned 
Euphemia  Deans  to  be  conducted  back  to  the  Tol- 
booth  of  Edinburgh,  and  detained  there  until 

Wednesday  the day  of ; and  upon  that 

day,  betwixt  the  hours  of  two  and  four  o’clock 
afternoon,  to  be  conveyed  to  the  common  place  of 
execution,  and  there  hanged  by  the  neck  upon  a 
gibbet.  “ And  this,”  said  the  Doomster,  aggravat- 
ing his  harsh  voice,  “ I pronounce  fcj  doom” 

He  vanished  when  he  had  spoken  the  last  em- 
phatic word,  like  a foul  fiend  after  the  purpose  of 
his  visitation  has  been  accomplished;  but  the  im- 
pression of  horror,  excited  by  his  presence  and  his 
errand,  remained  upon  the  crowd  of  spectators. 

The  unfortunate  criminal,  — for  so  she  must  now 
be  termed, — with  more  susceptibility,  and  more 
irritable  feelings  than  her  father  and  sister,  was 
found,  in  this  emergence,  to  possess  a considerable 
share  of  their  courage.  She  had  remained  standing 
motionless  at  the  bar  while  the  sentence  was  pro- 
nounced, and  was  observed  to  shut  her  eyes  when 
the  Doomster  appeared.  But  she  was  the  first  to 


TALES  OE  MY  LANDLORD, 


353 

break  silence  when  that  evil  form,  had  left  his 
place. 

“ God  forgive  ye,  my  Lords/’  she  said*  “ and 
dinna  be  angry  wi’  me  for  wishing  it  — we  as  need 
forgiveness.  — As  for  myself  I canna  blame  ye,  for 
ye  act  up  to  your  lights  ; and  if  I havena  killed  my 
poor  infant,  ye  may  witness  a’  that  hae  seen  it  this 
day,  that  I hae  been  the  means  of  killing  my  grey- 
headed father  — I deserve  the  warst  frae  man,  and 
frae  God  too  — But  God  is  mair  mercifu*  to  us  than 
we  are  to  each  othen^ 

With  these  words  the  trial  concluded  The  crowd 
rushed,  bearing  forward  and  shouldering  each  other, 
out  of  the  court,  in  the  same  tumultuary  mode  in 
which  they  had  entered  ; and,  in  the  excitation  of 
animal  motion  and  animal  spirits,  soon  forgot  what- 
ever they  had  felt  as  impressive  in  the  scene  which 
they  had  witnessed  The  professional  spectators, 
whom  habit  and  theory  had  rendered  as  callous  to 
the  distress  of  the  scene  as  medical  men  are  to 
those  of  a surgical  operation,  walked  homeward  in 
groups,  discussing  the  general  principle  of  the 
statute  under  which  the  young  woman  was  con- 
demned, the  nature  of  the  evidence,  and  the  argu- 
ments of  the  counsel,  without  considering  even  that 
of  the  Judge  as  exempt  from  their  criticism. 

The  female  spectators,  more  compassionate,  were 
loud  in  exclamation  against  that  part  of  the  Judge’s 
speech  which  seemed  to  cut  off  the  hope  of  pardon. 

“ Set  him  up,  indeed,”  said  Mrs.  Howden,  to 
tell  us  that  the  poor  lassie  behoved  to  die,  when 
Mr.  John  Kirk,  as  civil  a gentleman  as  is  within 
the  ports  of  the  town,  took  the  pains  to  prigg  for 
her  himsell.’ 

“ Ay,  but,  neighbour,”  said  Miss  Damahoy,  draw- 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN. 


359 


ing  up  her  thin  maidenly  form  to  its  full  height  of 
prim  dignity  — “I  really  think  this  unnatural  busi- 
ness of  having  bastard-bairns  should  be  putten  a 
stop  to  — There  isna  a hussy  now  on  this  side  of 
thirty  that  you  can  bring  within  your  doors,  but  there 
will  be  chields  — writer-lads,  prentice-lads,  and  what 
not  — coming  traiking  after  them  for  their  destruc- 
tion, and  discrediting  ane’s  honest  house  into  the 
bargain  — I hae  nae  patience  wi’  them.” 

* “ Hout,  neighbour”  said  Mrs.  Howden,  “ we  suld 
live  and  let  live  — we  hae  been  young  oursells,  and 
we  are  no  aye  to  judge  the  warst  when  lads  and 
lasses  forgather.3’ 

“Young  oursells?  and  judge  the  warst?”  said 
Miss  Damahoy.  “ I am  no  sae  auld  as  that  comes 
to,  Mrs.  Howden ; and  as  for  what  ye  ca’  the  warst, 
I ken  neither  good  nor  bad  about  the  matter,  I 
thank  my  stars  ! ” 

“Ye  are  thankfu’  for  sma5  mercies,  then,”  said 
Mrs.  Howden,  with  a toss  of  her  head ; “ and  as 
for  you  and  young  — I trow  ye  were  doing  for  your- 
sell  at  the  last  riding  of  the  Scots  Parliament,  and 
that  was  in  the  gracious  year  seven,  sae  ye  can  be 
nae  sic  chicken  at  ony  rate.” 

Plumdamas,  who  acted  as  squire  of  the  body  to 
the  two  contending  dames,  instantly  saw  the  hazard 
of  entering  into  such  delicate  points  of  chronology, 
and  being  a lover  of  peace  and  good  neighbourhood, 
lost  no  time  in  bringing  back  the  conversation  to 
its  original  subject. 

“The  Judge  didna  tell  us  a’ he  could  hae  tell’d 
us,  if  he  had  liked,  about  the  application  for  pardon, 
neighbours  ” said  he  ; “ there  is  aye  a wimple  in  a 
lawyer's  clew ; but  it’s  a wee  bit  of  a secret.” 

“And  what  is’t? — what  is’t,  neighbour  Plum* 


360  TALES  OE  MY  LANDLORD. 

damas?”  said  Mrs,  Howden  and  Miss  Damahoy  at 
once,  the  acid  fermentation  of  their  dispute  being  at 
once  neutralized  by  the  powerful  alkali  implied  in 
the  word  secret. 

“Here’s  Mr.  Saddletree  can  tell  ye  that  better 
than  me,  for  it  was  him  that  tauld  me,”  said  Plum- 
damas  as  Saddletree  came  up,  with  his  wife  hanging 
on  his  arm,  and  looking  very  disconsolate. 

When  the  question  was  put  to  Saddletree,  he 
looked  very  scornful.  “ They  speak  about  stopping 
the  frequency  of  child-murder,”  said  he,  in  a con- 
temptuous tone ; “ do  ye  think  our  auld  enemies  of 
England,  as  Glendook  aye  ca’s  them  in  his  printed 
Statute-book,  care  a boddle  whether  we  didna  kill 
ane  anither,  skin  and  birn,  horse  and  foot,  man, 
woman,  and  bairns,  all  and  sindry,  omnes  et  singu - 
los?  as  Mr.  Crossmyloof  says  ? Na,  na,  it’s  no  that 
hinders  them  frae  pardoning  the  bit  lassie.  But 
here  is  the  pinch  of  the  plea.  The  king  and  queen 
are  sae  ill  pleased  wi’  that  mistak  about  Porteous, 
that  deil  a kindly  Scot  will  they  pardon  again, 
either  by  reprieve  or  remission,  if  the  haill  town  o’ 
Edinburgh  should  be  a’  hanged  on  ae  tow.” 

“ Deil  that  they  were  back  at  their  German  kale- 
yard then,  as  my  neighbour  MacCroskie  ca’s  it,” 
said  Mrs.  Howden,  “an  that’s  the  way  they’re  gaun 
to  guide  us  1” 

“They  say  for  certain,”  said  Miss  Damahoy, 
“ that  King  George  flang  his  periwig  in  the  fire 
when  he  heard  o’  the  Porteous  mob.” 

€<  He  has  done  that,  they  say/’  replied  Saddle- 
tree,  “ for  less  thing.” 

“Aweel,”  said  Miss  Damahoy,  “he  might  keep 
mair  wit  in  his  anger  — but  it’s  a ’ the  better  for  his 
wigmaker,  I’se  warrant.” 


THE  HEART  OE  MID-LOTHIAN. 


3^i 


“ The  queen  tore  her  biggonets  for  perfect  anger, 
— ye’ll  hae  heard  o’  that  too  ? ” said  Plumdamas. 
‘And  the  king,  they  say,  kickit  Sir  Robert  Wal- 
pole for  no  keeping  down  the  mob  of  Edinburgh ; 
but  I dinna  believe  he  wad  behave  sae  ungenteel.” 

“ It’s  dooms  truth, though,”  said  Saddletree;  “and 
he  was  for  kickin  the  Duke  of  Argyle  1 too.” 

“ Kickin  the  Duke  of  Argyle  ! ” exclaimed  the 
hearers  at  once,  in  all  the  various  combined  keys  of 
utter  astonishment. 

“ Ay,  but  MacCallummore’s  blood  wadna  sit  down 
wi’  that ; there  was  risk  of  Andro  Ferrara  coming  in 
thirdsman.” 

“ The  duke  is  a real  Scotsman  — a true  friend  to 
the  country,”  answered  Saddletree’s  hearers. 

“ Ay,  ‘troth  is  he,  to  king  and  country  baith,  as  ye 
sail  hear,”  continued  the  orator,  “if  ye  will  come  in 
bye  to  our  house,  for  it’s  safest  speaking  of  sic  things 
inter  pcirietes” 

When  they  entered  his  shop  he  thrust  his  pren- 
tice boy  out  of  it,  and,  unlocking  his  desk,  took  out, 
with  an  air  of  grave  and  complacent  importance,  a 
dirty  and  crumpled  piece  of  printed  paper ; he  ob- 
served, “ This  is  new  corn  — it’s  no  every  body  could 
show  ye  the  like  o’  this.  It’s  the  duke’s  speech  about 
the  Porteous  mob,  just  promulgated  by  the  hawkers. 
Ye  shall  hear  what  Ian  Roy  Cean  2 ( q ) says  for  him- 
sell.  My  correspondent  bought  it  in  the  Palace-yard, 
that’s  like  just  under  the  king’s  nose — A think  he 
claws  up  their  mittans ! — It  came  in  a letter  about 
a foolish  bill  of  exchange  that  the  man  wanted  me 

1 Note  XV. — John  Duke  of  Argyle  and  Greenwich. 

2 Red  John  the  Warrior,  a name  personal  and  proper  in  the 
Highlands  to  John  Duke  of  Argyle  and  Greenwich,  as  MacCum- 
min  was  that  of  his  race  or  dignity. 


362  TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 

to  renew  for  him.  I wish  ye  wad  see  about  it,  Mrs. 
Saddletree.” 

Honest  Mrs.  Saddletree  had  hitherto  been  so  sin- 
cerely distressed  about  the  situation  of  her  unfor- 
tunate protegee,  that  she  had  suffered  her  husband 
to  proceed  in  his  own  way,  without  attending  to 
what  he  was  saying.  The  words  till  and  renew  had, 
however,  an  awakening  sound  in  them ; and  she 
snatched  the  letter  which  her  husband  held  towards 
her,  and  wiping  her  eyes,  and  putting  on  her  spec- 
tacles, endeavoured,  as  fast  as  the  dew  which  col- 
lected on  her  glasses  would  permit,  to  get  at  the 
meaning  of  the  needful  part  of  the  epistle  ; while 
her  husband,  with  pompous  elevation,  read  an  ex- 
tract from  the  speech. 

“Iam  no  minister,  I never  was  a minister,  and  I 
never  will  be  one  ” 

“ I didna  ken  his  grace  was  ever  designed  for  the 
ministry,”  interrupted  Mrs.  Howden. 

“ He  disna  mean  a minister  of  the  gospel,  Mrs. 
Howden,  but  a minister  of  state,”  said  Saddletree, 
with  condescending  goodness,  and  then  proceeded : 

“ The  time  was  when  I might  have  been  a piece  of  a 
minister,  but  I was  too  sensible  of  my  own  incapacity 
to  engage  in  any  state  affair.  And  I thank  God  that  I 
had  always  too  great  a value  for  those  few  abilities 
which  nature  has  given  me,  to  employ  them  in  doing 
any  drudgery,  or  any  job  of  what  kind  soever.  I have, 
ever  since  I set  out  in  the  world,  (and  I believe  few 
have  set  out  more  early,)  served  my  prince  with  my 
tongue;  I have  served  him  with  any  little  interest  I 
had,  and  I have  served  him  with  my  sword,  and  in  my 
profession  of  arms.  I have  held  employments  which  I 
have  lost,  and  were  I to  be  to-morrow  deprived  of  those 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN, 


3^3 


which  still  remain  to  me,  and  which  I have  endeavoured 
honestly  to  deserve,  I would  still  serve  him  to  the  last 
acre  of  my  inheritance,  and  to  the  last  drop  of  my 
blood.” 

Mrs.  Saddletree  here  broke  in  upon  the  orator.— 
“ Mr.  Saddletree,  what  is  the  meaning  of  a*  this  ? 
Here  are  ye  clavering  about  the  Duke  of  Argyle, 
and  this  man  Martingale  gaun  to  break  on  our 
hands,  and  lose  us  gude  sixty  pounds — I wonder 
what  duke  will  pay  that,  quotha  — I wish  the  Duke 
of  Argyle  would  pay  his  ain  accounts  — He  is  in  a 
thousand  punds  Scots  on  thae  very  books  when  he 
was  last  at  Roystoun  — I’m  no  saying  but  he’s  a 
just  nobleman,  and  that  it’s  gude  siller  — but  it  wad 
drive  ane  daft  to  be  confused  wi’  deukes  and  drakes, 
and  thae  distressed  folk  up  stairs,  that's  Jeanie 
Deans  and  her  father.  And  then,  putting  the  very 
callant  that  was  sewing  the  curpel  out  o’  the  shop, 
to  play  wi’  blackguards  in  the  close  — Sit  still, 
neighbours,  it’s  no  that  I mean  to  disturb  you;  but 
what  between  courts  o’  law  and  courts  o’  state,  and 
upper  and  under  parliaments,  and  parliament-houses, 
here  and  in  London,  the  gudeman’s  gane  clean  gyte, 
I think.” 

The  gossips  understood  civility,  and  the  rule  of 
doing  as  they  would  be  done  by,  too  well,  to  tarry 
upon  the  slight  invitation  implied  in  the  conclusion 
of  this  speech,  and  therefore  made  their  farewells 
and  departure  as  fast  as  possible,  Saddletree  whis- 
pering to  Plumdamas  that  he  would  “ meet  him  at 
MacCroskie’s,”  (the  low-browed  shop  in  the  Lucken- 
booths,  already  mentioned,)  “ in  the  hour  of  cause, 
and  put  MacCallummore’s  speech  in  his  pocket,  for 
a’  the  gudewife’s  din.” 


3^4 


TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 


When  Mrs.  Saddletree  saw  the  house  freed  of  her 
importunate  visitors,  and  the  little  boy  reclaimed  from 
the  pastimes  of  the  wynd  to  the  exercise  of  the  awl, 
she  went  to  visit  her  unhappy  relative,  David  Deans, 
and  his  elder  daughter,  who  had  found  in  her  house 
the  nearest  place  of  friendly  refuge. 


AUTHOR’S  NOTES. 


Note  I.,  p.  xxix.  — Author’s  Connection  with  Quakerism. 

It  is  an  old  proverb,  that  “ many  a true  word  is  spoken  in 
jest.”  The  existence  of  Walter  Scott,  third  son  of  Sir  William 
Scott  of  Harden,  is  instructed,  as  it  is  called,  by  a charter  un- 
der the  great  seal,  Domino  Willielmo  Scott  de  Harden  Militi, 
et  Waltero  Scott  suo  filio  legitimo  tertio  genito,  terrarum  de 
Roberton. 1 The  munificent  old  gentleman  left  all  his  four 
sons  considerable  estates,  and  settled  those  of  Eilrig  and  Rae- 
burn, together  with  valuable  possessions  around  Lessudden, 
upon  Walter,  his  third  son,  who  is  ancestor  of  the  Scotts  of 
Raeburn,  and  of  the  Author  of  Waverley.  He  appears  to  have 
become  a convert  to  the  doctrine  of  the  Quakers,  or  Friends, 
and  a great  assertor  of  their  peculiar  tenets.  This  was  probably 
at  the  time  when  George  Fox,  the  celebrated  apostle  of  the 
sect,  made  an  expedition  into  the  south  of  Scotland  about 
1657,  on  which  occasion  he  boasts,  that  u as  he  first  set  his 
horse’s  feet  upon  Scottish  ground,  he  felt  the  seed  of  grace  to 
sparkle  about  him  like  innumerable  sparks  of  fire.”  Upon  the 
same  occasion,  probably,  Sir  Gideon  Scott  of  Highchester,  sec- 
ond son  of  Sir  William,  immediate  elder  brother  of  Walter, 
and  ancestor  of  the  author’s  friend  and  kinsman,  the  present 
representative  of  the  family  of  Harden,  also  embraced  the 
tenets  of  Quakerism.  This  last  convert,  Gideon,  entered  into 
a controversy  with  the  Rev.  James  Kirkton,  author  of  the 
Secret  and  True  History  of  the  Church  of  Scotland,  which  is 
noticed  by  my  ingenious  friend  Mr.  Charles  Kirkpatricke 
Sharpe,  in  his  valuable  and  curious  edition  of  that  work,  4to, 
1817.  Sir  William  Scott,  eldest  of  the  brothers,  remained,  amid 
the  defection  of  his  two  younger  brethren,  an  orthodox  member 
of  the  Presbyterian  Church,  and  used  such  means  for  reclaim- 
ing Walter  of  Raeburn  from  his  heresy,  as  savoured  far  more  of 


1 See  Douglas’s  Baronage,  p.  215. 


366 


AUTHOR’S  NOTES. 


persecution  than  persuasion.  In  this  he  was  assisted  by  Mac- 
Dougal  of  Makerston,  brother  to  Isabella  MacDougal,  the  wife 
of  the  said  Walter,  and  who,  like  her  husband,  had  conformed 
to  the  Quaker  tenets. 

The  interest  possessed  by  Sir  William  Scott  and  Makerston 
was  powerful  enough  to  procure  the  two  following  acts  of  the 
Privy  Council  of  Scotland,  directed  against  Walter  of  Raeburn 
as  an  heretic  and  convert  to  Quakerism,  appointing  him  to  be 
imprisoned  first  in  Edinburgh  jail,  and  then  in  that  of  Jed- 
burgh ; and  his  children  to  be  taken  by  force  from  the  society 
and  direction  of  their  parents,  and  educated  at  a distance  from 
them,  besides  the  assignment  of  a sum  for  their  maintenance, 
sufficient  in  those  times  to  be  burdensome  to  a moderate  Scot- 
tish estate. 

44  Apud  Edin.  vigesimo  Junii  1665. 

44  The  Lords  of  his  Magesty’s  Privy  Council  having  receaved 
information  that  Scott  of  Raeburn,  and  Isobel  Mackdougall, 
his  wife,  being  infected  with  the  error  of  Quakerism,  doe  en- 
deavour to  breid  and  traine  up  William,  Walter,  and  Isobel 
Scotts,  their  children,  in  the  same  profession,  doe  therefore 
give  order  and  command  to  Sir  William  Scott  of  Harden,  the 
said  Raeburn’s  brother,  to  seperat  and  take  away  the  saids  chil- 
dren from  the  custody  and  society  of  the  saids  parents,  and  to 
cause  educat  and  bring  them  up  in  his  owne  house,  or  any 
other  convenient  place,  and  ordaines  letters  to  be  direct  at 
the  said  Sir  William’s  instance  against  Raeburn,  for  a mainte- 
nance to  the  saids  children,  and  that  the  said  Sir  Win.  give  ane 
account  of  his  diligence  with  all  conveniency.” 

44  Edinburgh,  6th  July  1666. 

44  Anent  a petition  presented  be  Sir  Wm.  Scott  of  Harden, 
for  himself  and  in  name  and  behalf  of  the  three  children  of 
Walter  Scott  of  Raeburn,  his  brother,  showing  that  the  Lords 
of  Councill,  by  ane  act  of  the  22d  day  of  Junii  1665,  did  grant 
power  and  warrand  to  the  petitioner,  to  separat  and  take  away 
Raeburn’s  children,  from  his  family  and  education,  and  to 
breed  them  in  some  convenient  place,  where  they  might  be 
free  from  all  infection  in  their  younger  years,  from  the  princi- 
palis of  Quakerism,  and,  for  maintenance  of  the  saids  children, 
did  ordain  letters  to  be  direct  against  Raeburn  ; and,  seeing 
the  Petitioner,  in  obedience  to  the  said  order,  did  take  away 


AUTHOR’S  NOTES. 


36 1 


the  saids  children,  being  two  sonnes  arid  a daughter,  and  after 
some  paines  taken  upon  them  in  his  owne  family,  hes  sent  them 
to  the  city  of  Glasgow,  to  be  bread  at  schooles,  and  there  to  be 
principled  with  the  knowledge  of  the  true  religion,  and  that  it 
is  necessary  the  Councill  determine  what  shall  be  the  main- 
tenance for  which  Raeburn’s  three  children  may  be  charged,  as 
likewise  that  Raeburn  himself,  being  now  in  the  Tolbooth  of 
Edinburgh,  where  he  dayley  converses  with  all  the  Quakers 
who  are  prisoners  there,  and  others  who  daily  resort  to  them, 
whereby  he  is  hardened  in  his  pernitious  opinions  and  prin- 
ciples, without  all  hope  of  recovery,  unlessehebe  separat  from 
such  pernitious  company,  humbly  therefore,  desyring  that  the 
Councell  might  determine  upon  the  soume  of  money  to  be 
payed  be  Raeburn,  for  the  education  of  his  children,  to  the 
petitioner,  who  will  be  countable  therefore  ; and  that,  in 
order  to  his  conversion,  the  place  of  his  imprisonment  may 
be  changed.  The  Lords  of  his  Maj.  Privy  Councell  having  at 
length  heard  and  considered  the  foresaid  petition,  doe  modifie 
the  souine  of  two  thousand  pounds  Scots,  to  be  payed  yearly 
at  the  terme  of  Whitsunday  be  the  said  Walter  Scott  of  Rae- 
burn, furth  of  his  estate  to  the  petitioner,  for  the  entertainment 
and  education  of  the  said  children,  beginning  the  first  termes 
payment  t her  of  at  Whitsunday  last  for  the  half  year  preced- 
ing, and  so  furth  yearly,  at  the  said  terme  of  Whitsunday  in  tym 
comeing  till  furder  orders ; and  ordaines  the  said  Walter  Scott 
of  Raeburn  to  oe  transported  from  the  tolbooth  of  Edinburgh 
to  the  prison  of  Jedburgh,  where  his  friends  and  others  may 
have  occasion  to  convert  him.  And  to  the  effect  he  may  be 
secured  from  the  practice  of  other  Quakers,  the  said  Lords  doe 
hereby  discharge  the  magistrates  of  Jedburgh  to  suffer  any  per- 
sons suspect  of  these  principles  to  have  access  to  him  ; and  in 
case  any  contra veen,  that  they  secure  ther  persons  till  they  be 
therfore  puneist  ; and  ordaines  letters  to  be  direct  heirupon  in 
form,  as  effeirs.” 

Both  the  sons,  thus  harshly  separated  from  their  father, 
proved  good  scholars.  The  eldest,  William,  who  carried  on  the 
line  of  Raeburn,  was,  like  his  father,  a deep  Orientalist ; the 
younger,  Walter,  became  a good  classical  scholar,  a great  friend 
and  correspondent  of  the  celebrated  Dr.  Pitcairn,  and  a Jacob- 
ite so  distinguished  for  zeal,  that  he  made  a vow  never  to  shave 
his  beard  till  the  restoration  of  the  exiled  family.  This  last 
Walter  Scott  was  the  author’s  great-grandfather. 


308 


AUTHOR’S  NOTES. 


There  is  yet  another 'link  betwixt  the  author  and  the  simple- 
minded  and  excellent  Society  of  Friends,  through  a proselyte 
of  much  more  importance  than  Walter  Scott  of  Raeburn.  The 
celebrated  John  Swinton  of  Swinton,  xixth  baron  in  descent  of 
that  ancient  and  once  powerful  family,  was,  with  Sir  William 
Lockhart  of  Lee,  the  person  whom  Cromwell  chiefly  trusted  in 
the  management  of  the  Scottish  affairs  during  his  usurpation. 
After  the  Restoration,  Swinton  was  devoted  as  a victim  to  the 
new  order  of  things,  and  was  brought  down  in  the  same  vessel 
which  conveyed  the  Marquis  of  Argyle  to  Edinburgh,  where 
that  nobleman  was  tried  and  executed.  Swinton  was  destined 
to  the  same  fate.  He  had  assumed  the  habit,  and  entered  into 
the  society  of  the  Quakers,  and  appeared  as  one  of  their  num- 
ber before  the  Parliament  of  Scotland.  He  renounced  all  legal 
defence,  though  several  pleas  were  open  to  him,  and  answered, 
in  conformity  to  the  principles  of  his  sect,  that  at  the  time  these 
crimes  were  imputed  to  him,  he  was  in  the  gall  of  bitterness 
and  bond  of  iniquity  ; but  that  God  Almighty  having  since 
called  him  to  the  light,  he  saw  and  acknowledged  these  errors, 
and  did  not  refuse  to  pay  the  forfeit  of  them,  even  though,  in 
the  judgment  of  the  Parliament,  it  should  extend  to  life  itself. 

Respect  to  fallen  greatness,  and  to  the  patience  and  calm 
resignation  with  which  a man  once  in  high  power  expressed 
himself  under  such  a change  of  fortune,  found  Swinton  friends ; 
family  connexions,  and  some  interested  considerations  of  Mid- 
dleton the  Commissioner,  joined  to  procure  his  safety,  and  he 
was  dismissed,  but  after  a long  imprisonment,  and  much 
dilapidation  of  his  estates.  It  is  said,  that  Swinton’s  admoni- 
tions, while  confined  in  the  Castle  of  Edinburgh,  had  a consid- 
erable share  in  converting  to  the  tenets  of  the  Friends  Colonel 


i 

i 

>: 


i 


David  Barclay,  then  lying  there  in  garrison.  This  was  the 
father  of  Robert  Barclay,  author  of  the  celebrated  Apology  for 
the  Quakers.  It  may  be  observed  among  the  inconsistencies  of 
human  nature,  that  Kirkton,  Wodrow,  and  other  Presbyterian  l 
authors,  who  have  detailed  the  sufferings  of  their  own  sect  for 
non-conformity  with  the  established  church,  censure  the  gov- 
ernment of  the  time  for  not  exerting  the  civil  power  against  the 
peaceful  enthusiasts  we  have  treated  of,  and  some  express  parti- 
cular chagrin  at  the  escape  of  Swinton.  Whatever  might  be 
his  motives  for  assuming  the  tenets  of  the  Friends,  the  old  man 
retained  them  faithfully  till  the  close  of  his  life. 

Jean  Swinton,  grand-daughter  of  Sir  John  Swinton,  son  of 


AUTHOR’S  NOTES.  369 

Judge  Swinton,  as  the  Quaker  was  usually  termed,  was  mother 
of  Anne  Rutherford,  the  author’s  mother. 

And  thus, as  in  the  play  of  the  Anti- Jacobin,  the  ghost  of  the 
author’s  grandmother  having  arisen  to  speak  the  Epilogue,  it  is 
full  time  to  conclude,  lest  the  reader  should  remonstrate  that 
his  desire  to  know  the  Author  of  Waverley  never  included  a 
wish  to  he  acquainted  with  his  whole  ancestry. 

Note  II.,  p.  85.  — Tolbooth  of  Edinburgh. 

The  ancient  Tolbooth  of  Edinburgh,  situated  and  described 
as  in  the  last  chapter,  was  built  by  the  citizens  in  1561,  and 
destined  for  the  accommodation  of  Parliament,  as  well  as  of 
tire  High  Courts  of  Justice;  and  at  the  same  time  for  the  confine- 
ment of  prisoners  for  debt,  or  on  criminal  charges.  Since  the 
year  1640,  when  the  present  Parliament  House  was  erected, 
the  Tolbooth  was  occupied  as  a prison  only.  Gloomy  and  dismal 
as  it  was,  the  situation  in  the  centre  of  the  High  Street  rendered 
it  so  particularly  well-aired,  that  when  the  plague  laid  waste 
the  city  in  1645,  it  affected  none  within  these  melancholy  pre- 
cincts. The  Tolbooth  was  removed,  with  the  mass  of  buildings 
in  which  it  was  incorporated,  in  the  autumn  of  the  year  1817. 
At  that  time  the  kindness  of  his  old  schoolfellow  and  friend, 
Robert  Johnstone,  Esquire,  then  Dean  of  Guild  of  the  city, 
with  the  liberal  acquiescence  of  the  persons  who  had  contracted 
for  the  work,  procured  for  the  Author  of  Waverley  the  stones 
which  composed  the  gateway,  together  with  the  door,  and  its 
ponderous  fastenings,  which  he  employed  in  decorating  the  en- 
trance of  his  kitchen-court  at  Abbotsford.  “ To  such  base 
offices  may  we  return.”  The  application  of  these  relics  of  the 
Heart  of  Mid-Lothian  to  serve  as  the  postern  gate  to  a court  of 
modern  offices,  may  be  justly  ridiculed  as  whimsical  ; but  yet 
it  is  not  without  interest,  that  we  see  the  gateway  through 
which  so  much  of  the  stormy  politics  of  a rude  age,  and  the 
vice  and  misery  of  later  times,  had  found  their  passage,  now 
occupied  in  the  service  of  rural  economy.  Last  year,  to  com- 
plete the  change,  a tom-tit  was  pleased  to  build  her  nest  within 
the  lock  of  the  Tolbooth,  — a strong  temptation  to  have  com- 
mitted a sonnet,  had  the  author,  like  Tony  Lumpkin,  been  in 
a concatenation  accordingly. 

It  is  worth  mentioning,  that  an  act  of  beneficence  celebrated 
the  demolition  of  the  Heart  of  Mid-Lothian.  A subscription, 


37° 


AUTHOR'S  NOTES. 


raised  and  applied  by  the  worthy  Magistrate  above-mentioned, 
procured  the  manumission  of  most  of  the  unfortunate  debtors 
confined  in  the  old  jail,  so  that  there  were  few  or  none  trans- 
ferred to  the  new  place  of  confinement. 

Note  III.,  p.  99.  — Memorial  concerning  the  Murder  of 
Captain  Porteous. 

The  following  interesting  and  authentic  account  of  the  en- 
quiries made  by  Crown  Counsel  into  the  affair  of  the  Por- 
teous Mob,  seems  to  have  been  drawn  up  by  the  Solicitor-Gen- 
eral. The  office  was  held  in  1737  by  Charles  Erskine,  Esq. 

I owe  this  curious  illustration  to  the  kindness  of  a profes- 
sional friend.  It  throws,  indeed,  little  light  on  the  origin  of 
the  tumult;  but  show’s  how  profound  the  darkness  must  have 
been,  which  so  much  investigation  could  not  dispel. 

“ Upon  the  7th  of  September  last,  when  the  unhappy  wicked 
murder  of  Captain  Porteus  was  committed,  His  Majesty’s  Ad- 
vocate and  Solicitor  were  out  of  town  ; the  first  beyond  Inver- 
ness, and  the  other  in  Annandale,  not  far  from  Carlyle ; neither 
of  them  knew  any  thing  of  the  reprieve,  nor  did  they  in  the  < 
least  suspect  that  any  disorder  wTas  to  happen. 

“ When  the  disorder  happened,  the  magistrates  and  other 
persons  concerned  in  the  management  of  the  town,  seemed  to 
be  all  struck  of  a heap  ; and  whether  from  the  great  terror  that 
had  seized  all  the  inhabitants,  they  thought  ane  immediate  en- 
quiry would  be  fruitless,  or  whether  being  a direct  insult  upon 
the  prerogative  of  the  crown,  they  did  not  care  rashly  to  inter- 
meddle ; but  no  proceedings  was  had  by  them.  Only,  soon 
after,  ane  express  was  sent  to  his  Majesties  Solicitor,  who  came 
to  town  as  soon  as  was  possible  for  him  ; but,  in  the  meantime, 
the  persons  who  had  been  most  guilty,  had  either  run  off,  or, 
at  least,  kept  themselves  upon  the  wing  until  they  should  see 
what  steps  were  taken  by  the  Government 

“ When  the  Solicitor  arrived,  he  perceived  the  whole  inhabi- 
tants under  a consternation.  He  had  no  materials  furnished 
him  ; nay,  the  inhabitants  wrere  so  much  afraid  of  being  re- 
puted informers,  that  very  few’  people  had  so  much  as  the 
courage  to  speak  with  him  on  the  streets.  However,  having 
received  her  Majesties  orders,  by  a letter  from  the  Duke  of 
Newcastle,  he  resolved  to  sett  about  the  matter  in  earnest,  and 
entered  upon  ane  enquiry,  gropeing  in  the  dark.  He  had  no 


AUTHOR’S  NOTES. 


37* 


Assistance  from  the  magistrates  worth  mentioning,  but  called 
witness  after  witness  in  the  privates!  manner,  before  himself  in 
his  own  house,  and  for  six  weeks  time,  from  morning  to  even- 
ing, went  on  in  the  enquiry  without  taking  the  least  diversion, 
or  turning  his  thoughts  to  any  other  business. 

“ He  tried  at  first  what  he  could  do  by  declarations,  by  en- 
gaging secresy,  so  that  those  who  told  the  truth  should  never 
be  discovered  ; made  use  of  no  clerk,  but  wrote  all  the  declara- 
tions with  his  own  hand,  to  encourage  them  to  speak  out. 
After  all,  for  some  time,  he  could  get  nothing  but  ends  of 
stories  which,  when  pursued,  broke  off  ; and  those  who  ap- 
peared and  knew  any  thing  of  the  matter,  were  under  the 
utmost  terror,  lest  it  should  take  air  that  they  had  mentioned 
any  one  man  as  guilty. 

“ During  the  course  of  the  enquiry,  the  run  of  the  town, 
which  was  strong  for  the  villanous  actors,  begun  to  alter  a 
little,  and  when  they  saw  the  King’s  servants  in  earnest  to  do 
their  best,  the  generality,  who  before  had  spoke  very  warmly 
in  defence  of  the  wickedness,  begun  to  be  silent,  and  at  that 
period  more  of  the  criminals  begun  to  abscond. 

“ At  length  the  enquiry  began  to  open  a little,  and  the  Solli- 
citor  was  under  some  difficulty  how  to  proceed.  He  very  well 
saw  that  the  first  warrand  that  was  issued  out  would  start  the 
whole  gang  ; and  as  he  had  not  come  at  any  one  of  the  most 
notorious  offenders,  he  was  unwilling,  upon  the  slight  evidence 
he  had,  to  begin.  However,  upon  notice  given  him  by  Generali 
Moyle,  that  one  King,  a butcher  in  the  Canongate,  had  boasted 
in  presence  of  Bridget  Knell,  a soldier’s  wife,  the  morning  after 
Captain  Porteus  was  hanged,  that  he  had  a very  active  hand 
in  the  mob,  a warrand  was  issued  out,  and  King  was  appre- 
hended and  imprisoned  in  the  Canongate  tolbooth. 

u This  obliged  the  Sollicitor  immediately  to  proceed  to  take 
up  those  against  whom  he  had  any  information.  By  a signed 
declaration,  William  Stirling,  apprentice  to  James  Stirling, 
merchant  in  Edinburgh,  was  charged  as  haveing  been  at  the 
Nether-Bow,  after  the  gates  were  shutt,  with  a Lochaber  ax,  or 
halbert  in  his  hand,  and  haveing  begun  a huzza,  marched  upon 
the  head  of  the  mob  towards  the  Guard. 

“ James  Braid  wood,  son  to  a candlemaker  in  town,  was,  by 
a signed  declaration,  charged  as  haveing  been  at  the  Tolbootb 
door,  giveing  directions  to  the  mob  about  setting  fire  to  the  door, 
and  that  the  mob  named  him  by  his  name,  and  asked  his  advice. 


372 


AUTHOR’S  NOTES. 


“By  another  declaration,  one  Stoddart,  a journeyman  smith, 
was  charged  of  haveing  boasted  publickly,  in  a smith’s  shop  at 
Leith,  that  he  had  assisted  in  breaking  open  the  Tolbooth  door. 

“ Peter  Traill,  a journeyman  wright,  by  one  of  the  declara- 
tions, was  also  accused  of  haveing  lockt  the  Nether-Bow  Port 
when  it  was  shutt  by  the  mob. 

“ His  Majesties  Sollicitor  having  these  informations,  iin- 
ployed  privately  such  persons  as  he  could  best  rely  on,  and  the 
truth  was,  there  were  very  few  in  whom  he  could  repose  con- 
fidence. But  he  was,  indeed,  faithfully  served  by  one  Webster, 
a soldier  in  the  Welsh  fuzileers,  recommended  to  him  by  Lieu- 
tenant Alshton,  who,  with  very  great  address,  informed  him- 
self, and  really  run  some  risque  in  getting  his  information, 
concerning  the  places  where  the  persons  informed  against  used 
to  haunt,  and  how  they  might  be  seized.  In  consequence  of 
which,  a party  of  the  Guard  from  the  Canongate  was  agreed  on 
to  march  up  at  a certain  hour,  when  a message  should  be  sent. 
The  Solicitor  wrote  a letter  and  gave  it  to  one  of  the  town 
officers,  ordered  to  attend  Captain  Maitland,  one  of  the  town 
Captains,  promoted  to  that  command  since  the  unhappy  acci- 
dent, who,  indeed,  was  extremely  diligent  and  active  through- » 
out  the  whole;  and  haveing  got  Stirling  and  Braid  wood  appre- 
hended, dispatched  the  officer  with  the  letter  to  the  military  in 
the  Canongate,  who  immediately  begun  their  march,  and  by  the r 
time  the  Sollicitor  had  half  examined  the  said  two  persons  in 
the  Burrow-room,  where  the  magistrates  were  present,  a party 
of  fifty  men,  drums  beating,  marched  into  the  Parliament  close, 
and  drew  up,  which  was  the  first  thing  that  struck  a terror, 
and  from  that  time  forward,  the  insolence  was  succeeded  by 
fear. 

“Stirling  and  Braidwood  were  immediately  sent  to  the  Cas- 
tle, and  imprisoned.  That  same  night,  Stoddart  the  smith  was' 
seized,  and  he  was  committed  to  the  Castle  also ; as  was  like- ' 
wise  Traill  the  journeyman  wright,  who  were  all  severally  ex- 
amined, and  denyed  the  least  accession. 

fi  In  the  meantime,  the  enquiry  was  going  on,  and  it  haveing 
cast  up  in  one  of  the  declarations,  that  a hump’d-backed  crea- 
ture marched  with  a gun  as  one  of  the  guards  to  Porteus  when 
he  went  up  the  Lawn  Markett,  the  person  who  emitted  this 
declaration,  was  employed  to  walk  the  streets  to  see  if  he  could 
find  him  out  ; at  last  he  came  to  the  Sollicitor  and  told  him 
he  had  found  him,  and  that  he  was  in  a certain  house.  Where- 


AUTHOR’S  NOTES. 


373 


upon  a warrant!  was  issued  out  against  him,  and  he  was  appre- 
hended and  sent  to  the  Castle,  and  he  proved  to  be  one  Birnie, 
a helper  to  the  Countess  of  Weemys's  coachman. 

“ Thereafter,  ane  information  was  given  in  against  William 
M'Lauchlan,  ffootman  to  the  said  Countess,  he  haveing  been 
very  active  in  the  mob  ; ffor  sometime  he  kept  himself  out  of 
the  way,  but  at  last  he  was  apprehended  and  likewise  com- 
mitted to  the  Castle. 

“ And  these  were  all  the  prisoners  who  were  putt  under  con- 
finement in  that  place. 

“ There  were  other  persons  imprisoned  in  the  Tolbooth  of 
Edinburgh,  and  severalls  against  whom  warrands  were  issued, 
but  could  not  be  apprehended,  whose  names  and  cases  shall 
afterwards  be  more  particularly  taken  notice  of. 

“ The  ffriends  of  Stirling  made  an  application  to  the  Earl  of 
Islay,  Lord  Justice-Generall,  setting  furth,  that  he  was  seized 
with  a bloody  filux ; that  his  life  wras  in  danger ; and  that  upon 
ane  examination  of  witnesses  whose  names  were  given  in,  it 
would  appear  to  conviction,  that  he  had  not  the  least  access  to 
any  of  the  riotous  proceedings  of  that  wicked  mob. 

“ This  petition  was  by  his  Lordship  putt  in  the  hands  of  his 
Majesties  Sollicitor,  who  examined  the  witnesses ; and  by  their 
testimonies  it  appeared,  that  the  young  man,  who  was  not 
above  eighteen  years  of  age,  was  that  night  in  company  with 
about  half  a dozen  companions,  in  a public  house  in  Stephen 
Law’s  closs,  near  the  back  of  the  Guard,  where  they  all  re- 
mained untill  the  noise  came  to  the  house,  that  the  mob  had 
shut  the  gates  and  seized  the  Guard,  upon  which  the  company 
broke  up,  and  he,  and  one  of  his  companions,  went  towards  his 
master’s  house  ; and,  in  the  course  of  the  after  examination, 
there  was  a witness  who  declared,  nay,  indeed  swore,  (for  the 
Sollicitor,  by  this  time,  saw  it  necessary  to  put  those  he  exam- 
ined upon  oath,)  that  he  met  him  [Stirling]  after  he  entered 
into  the  alley  where  his  master  lives,  going  towards  his  house  ; 
and  another  witness,  fellow-prentice  with  Stirling,  declares, 
that  after  the  mob  had  seized  the  Guard,  he  went  home,  where 
he  found  Stirling  before  him  ; and  that  his  master  lockt  the 
door,  and  kept  them  both  at  home  till  after  twelve  at  night  : 
upon  weighing  of  which  testimonies,  and  upon  consideration 
had,  That  he  was  charged  by  the  declaration  only  of  one  per- 
son, who  really  did  not  appear  to  be  a witness  of  the  greatest 
weight,  and  that  his  life  was  in  danger  from  the  imprisonment. 


374 


AUTHOR’S  NOTES, 


he  was  admitted  to  baill  by  the  Lord  Justice- Generali,  by 
whose  warrand  he  was  committed. 

“ Braidwood’s  friends  applyed  in  the  same  manner  ; but  as 
he  stood  charged  by  more  than  one  witness,  he  was  not  re- 
leased — tho’,  indeed,  the  witnesses  adduced  for  him  say  some- 
what in  his  exculpation  — that  he  does  not  seem  to  have  been 
upon  any  original  concert  ; and  one  of  the  witnesses  says  he 
was  along  with  him  at  the  Tolbooth  door,  and  refuses  what  is 
said  against  him,  with  regard  to  his  having  advised  the  burning 
of  the  Tolbooth  door.  But  he  remains  still  in  prison. 

“ As  to  Traill,  the  journeyman  wright,  he  is  charged  by  the 
same  witness  who  declared  against  Stirling,  and  there  is  none 
concurrs  with  him  ; and  to  say  the  truth  concerning  him,  he 
seemed  to  be  the  most  ingenuous  of  any  of  them  whom  the 
Solicitor  examined,  and  pointed  out  a witness  by  whom  one 
of  the  first  accomplices  was  discovered,  and  who  escaped  when 
the  warrand  was  to  be  putt  in  execution  against  them.  He 
positively  denys  his  having  shutt  the  gate,  and  ’tis  thought 
Traill  ought  to  be  admitted  to  baill. 

“ As  to  Birnie,  he  is  charged  only  by  one  witness,  who  had 
never  seen  him  before,  nor  knew  his  name  ; so,  tho’  I dare  say  • 
the  witness  honestly  mentioned  him,  ’tis  possible  he  may  he 
mistaken ; and  in  the  examination  of  above  200  witnesses, 
there  is  nobody  concurrs  with  him,  and  he  is  ane  insignificant  * 
little  creature. 

“ With  regard  to  M’Lauchlan,  the  proof  is  strong  against  him 
by  one  witness,  that  he  acted  as  a serjeant  or  sort  of  commander, 
for  some  time,  of  a Guard,  that  stood  cross  between  the  uppeT 
end  of  the  Luckenbooths  and  the  north  side  of  the  street,  to 
•stop  all  but  friends  from  going  towards  the  Tolbooth  ; and  by  ' 
other  witnesses,  that  he  was  at  the  Tolbooth  door  with  a link 
in  his  hand,  while  the  operation  of  beating  and  burning  it  was' 
going  on  : that  he  went  along  with  the  mob  with  a halbert  in' 
his  hand,  untill  he  came  to  the  gallows  stone  in  the  Grassmar-  j 
ket,  and  that  he  stuck  the  halbert  into  the  hole  of  the  gallows 
stone : that  afterwards  he  went  in  amongst  the  mob  when 
Captain  Porteus  was  carried  to  the  dyer’s  tree  ; so  that  the 
proof  seems  very  heavy  against  him. 

44  To  sum  up  this  matter  with  regard  to  the  prisoners  in  the 
Castle,  ’tis  believed  there  is  strong  proof  against  M’Lauchlan  ; 
there  is  also  proof  against  Braid  wood.  But  as  it  consists  only 
in  emission  of  words  said  to  have  been  had  by  him  while  at  the 


AtlTlLOR’S  NOTES. 


375 


Tolbooth  door,  and  that  he  is  ane  insignificant  pitifull  creature, 
and  will  find  people  to  swear  heartily  in  his  favours,  ’tis  at  best 
doubtfull  whether  a jury  will  be  got  to  condemn  him. 

“ As  to  those  in  the  Tolbooth  of  Edinburgh,  John  Crawford, 
who  had  for  some  time  been  employed  to  ring  the  bells  in  the 
steeple  of  the  new  Church  of  Edinburgh,  being  in  company 
with  a soldier  accidentally,  the  discourse  falling  in  concerning 
Captain  Porteus  and  his  murder,  as  he  appears  to  be  a light- 
headed fellow,  he  said,  that  he  knew  people  that  were  more 
guilty  than  any  that  were  putt  in  prison.  Upon  this  informa- 
tion, Crawford  was  seized,  and  being  examined,  it  appeared, 
that  when  the  mob  begun,  as  he  was  comeing  down  from  the 
steeple,  the  mob  took  the  keys  from  him  ; that  he  was  that 
night  in  several  corners,  and  did  indeed  delate  severall  persons 
whom  he  saw  there,  and  immediately  warrands  were  dispatched, 
and  it  was  found  they  had  absconded  and  fled.  But  there  was 
no  evidence  against  him  of  any  kind.  Nay,  on  the  contrary,  it 
appeared,  that  he  had  been  with  the  Magistrates  in  Clerk’s  the 
vintner’s,  relating  to  them  what  he  had  seen  in  the  streets. 
Therefore,  after  haveing  detained  him  in  prison  ffor  a very  con- 
siderable time,  his  Majesties  Advocate  and  Sollicitor  signed,  a 
warrand  for  his  liberation. 

“ There  was  also  one  James  Wilson  incarcerated  in  the  said 
Tolbooth,  upon  the  declaration  of  one  witness,  who  said  he 
saw  him  on  the  streets  with  a gun  ; and  there  he  remained  for 
some  time,  in  order  to  try  if  a concurring  witness  could  be 
found,  or  that  he  acted  any  part  in  the  tragedy  and  wicked- 
ness. But  nothing  further  appeared  against  him  ; and  being 
seized  with  a severe  sickness,  he  is,  by  a vrarrand  signed  by  his 
Majestie’s  Advocate  and  Sollicitor,  liberated  upon  rnveing  suffi- 
cient bail]. 

“ As  to  King,  enquiry  wras  made,  and  the  ffact  comes  out  be- 
yond all  exception,  that  he  was  in  the  lodge  at  the  Nether-Bo wr 
with  Lindsay  the  waiter,  and  several  other  people,  not  at  all 
concerned  in  the  mob.  But  after  the  affair  was  over,  he  vrent 
up  towards  the  guard,  and  having  met  with  San  die  the  Turk 
and  his  wife,  who  escaped  out  of  prison,  they  returned  to  his 
house  at  the  Abbey,  and  then  ’tis  very  possible  he  may  have 
thought  fitt  in  his  beer  to  boast  of  villany,  in  which  he  could 
not  possibly  have  any  share  ; for  that  reason  he  was  desired  to 
find  baill  and  he  should  be  set  at  liberty.  But  he  is  a stranger 
and  a fellow  of  very  indifferent  character,  and  ’tis  believed  it 


376  AUTHOR’S  NOTES. 

won’t  be  easy  for  him  to  find  baill.  Wherefore,  it’s  thought  he 
must  be  sett  at  liberty  without  it.  Because  he  is  a burden  upon 
the  Government  while  kept  in  confinement,  not  being  able  to 
maintain  himself. 

“ What  is  above  is  all  that  relates  to  persons  in  custody. 
But  there  are  warrands  out  against  a great  many  other  persons 
who  had  fled,  particularly  against  one  William  White,  a jour- 
neyman baxter,  who,  by  the  evidence,  appears  to  have  been  at 
the  beginning  of  the  mob,  and  to  have  gone  along  with  the 
drum,  from  the  West-Port  to  the  Nether-Bow,  and  is  said  to 
have  been  one  of  those  who  attacked  the  guard,  and  probably 
was  as  deep  as  any  one  there. 

“ Information  was  given  that  he  was  lurking  at  Falkirk, 
where  he  was  born.  Whereupon  directions  were  sent  to  the 
Sheriff  of  the  County,  and  a warrand  from  his  Excellency  Gen- 
erall  Wade,  to  the  commanding  officers  at  Stirling  and  Linlith- 
gow, to  assist,  and  all  possible  endeavours  were  used  to  catch  ' 
hold  of  him,  and  ’tis  said  he  escaped  very  narrowly,  having 
been  concealed  in  some  outhouse  ; and  the  misfortune  was, 
that  those  who  were  employed  in  the  search  did  not  know  him 
personally.  Nor,  indeed,  was  it  easy  to  trust  any  of  the  ac- 
quaintances of  so  low  obscure  a fellow  with  the  secret  of  the 
warrand  to  be  putt  in  execution.  * 

“ There  was  also  strong  evidence  found  against  Robert  Tay-  : 
lor,  servant  to  William  and  Charles  Thomsons,  periwig- 
makers,  that  he  acted  as  ane  officer  among  the  mob,  and  he 
was  traced  from  the  guard  to  the  well  at  the  head  of  Forrester’s 
Wynd,  where  he  stood  and  had  the  appellation  of  Captain  from 
the  mob,  and  from  that  walking  down  the  Bow  before  Captain  ; 
Porteus,  with  his  LochabeY-axe  ; and  by  the  description  given 
of  one  who  hawl’d  the  rope  by  which  Captain  Porteus  wTas  I 
pulled  up,  ’tis  believed  Taylor  was  the  person  ; and  *tis  further  \ 
probable,  that  the  witness  who  delated  Stirling  had  mistaken 
Taylor  for  him,  their  stature  and  age  (so  far  as  can  be  gathered 
from  the  description)  being  much  the  same. 

“ A great  deal  of  pains  were  taken,  and  no  charge  was  saved, 
in  order  to  have  catched  hold  of  this  Taylor,  and  warrands' 
were  sent  to  the  country  where  he  was  born  ; but  it  appears  he 
had  shipt  himself  off  for  Holland,  where  it  is  said  he  now  is. 

“ There  is  strong  evidence  also  against  Thomas  Burns, 
butcher,  that  he  was  ane  active  person  from  the  beginning  of 
the  mob  to  the  end  of  it.  He  lurkt  for  some  time  amongst 


AUTIIOR/S  NOTES. 


377 


those  of  his  trade  ; and  artfully  enough  a train  was  laid  to 
catch  him,  under  pretence  of  a message  that  had  come  from  his 
father  in  Ireland,  so  that  he  came  to  a blind  alehouse  in  the 
Flesh-market  doss,  and  a party  being  ready,  was  by  Webster 
the  soldier,  who  was  upon  this  exploit,  advertised  to  come 
down.  However,  Burns  escaped  out  at  a back  window,  and 
hid  himself  in  some  of  the  houses  which  are  heaped  together 
upon  one  another  in  that  place,  so  that  it  was  not  possible  to 
catch  him.  ’Tis  now  said  he  is  gone  to  Ireland  to  his  father, 
who  lives  there. 

“ There  is  evidence  also  against  one  Robert  Anderson,  jour- 
neyman and  servant  to  Colin  Alison,  wright ; and  against 
Thomas  Linnen  and  James  Maxwell,  both  servants  also  to  the 
said  Colin  Alison,  who  all  seem  to  have  been  deeply  concerned 
in  the  matter.  Anderson  is  one  of  those  who  putt  the  rope  upon 
Captain  Porteus’s  neck.  Linnen  seems  also  to  have  been  very 
active  ; and  Maxwell  (which  is  pretty  remarkable)  is  proven 
to  have  come  to  a shop  upon  the  Friday  before,  and  charged 
the  journeymen  and  prentices  there  to  attend  in  the  Parliament 
close  on  Tuesday  night,  to  assist  to  hang  Captain  Porteus. 
These  three  did  early  abscond,  and  though  warrands  had  been 
issued  out  against  them,  and  all  endeavours  used  to  apprehend 
them,  could  not  be  found. 

“ One  Waldie,  a servant  to  George  Campbell,  wright,  has 
also  absconded,  and  many  others,  and  ’tis  informed  that  num- 
bers of  them  have  shipt  themselves  off  ffor  the  Plantations  ; 
and  upon  an  information  that  a ship  was  going  off  ffrom  Glas- 
gow, in  which  severall  of  the  rogues  were  to  transport  them- 
selves beyond  seas,  proper  warrands  were  obtained,  and  persons 
dispatched  to  search  the  said  ship,  and  seize  any  that  can  be 
found. 

“ The  like  warrands  had  been  issued  with  regard  to  ships 
from  Leith.  But  whether  they  had  been  scard,  or  whether  the 
information  had  been  groundless,  they  had  no  effect. 

“ This  is  a summary  of  the  enquiry,  ffrom  which  it  appears 

there  is  no  prooff  on  which  one  can  rely,  but  against  M’Lauch- 
lan.  There  is  a prooff  also  against  Braid  wood,  but  more  excep- 
tionable. His  Majesties  Advocate,  since  he  came  to  town,  has 
join’d  with  the  Sollicitor,  and  has  done  his  utmost  to  gett  at 
the  bottom  of  this  matter,  but  hitherto  it  stands,  as  is  above 
represented.  They  are  resolved  to  have  their  eyes  and  their 
ears  open,  and  to  do  what  they  can.  But  they  labour’d  exceed- 


378 


AUTHOR’S  NOTES. 


ingly  against  the  stream ; and  it  may  be  truly  said  that  noth* 
ing  was  wanting  on  their  part.  Nor  have  they  declined  any 
labour  to  answer  the  commands  laid  upon  them  to  search  the 
matter  to  the  bottom.,, 


The  Porteous  Mob. 

In  chapters  YI.  and  VII.,  the  circumstances  of  that  extraor- 
dinary riot  and  conspiracy,  called  the  Porteous  Mob,  are  given 
with  as  much  accuracy  as  the  author  was  able  to  collect  them. 
The  order,  regularity,  and  determined  resolution  with  which 
such  a violent  action  was  devised  and  executed,  were  only 
equalled  by  the  secrecy  which  was  observed  concerning  the 
principal  actors. 

Although  the  fact  was  performed  by  torch-light,  and  in  pre- 
sence of  a great  multitude,  to  some  of  whom,  at  least,  the  indi- 
vidual actors  must  have  been  known,  yet  no  discovery  was  ever  , 
made  concerning  any  of  the  perpetrators  of  the  slaughter. 

Two  men  only  were  brought  to  trial  for  an  offence  which  the 
government  were  so  anxious  to  detect  and  punish.  William  : 
M’Lauchlan,  footman  to  the  Countess  of  Weinyss,  who  is  men-  ! 
tioned  in  the  report  of  the  Solicitor-General,  (page  374), 
against  whom  strong  evidence  had  been  obtained,  was  brought  . 
to  trial  in  March  1737,  charged  as  having  been  accessory  to  the 
riot,  armed  with  a Lochaber-axe.  But  this  man  (who  was  at 
all  times  a silly  creature)  proved,  that  he  was  in  a state  of 
mortal  intoxication  during  the  time  he  was  present  with  the 
rabble,  incapable  of  giving  them  either  advice  or  assistance,  or, 
indeed,  of  knowing  what  he  or  they  were  doing.  He  was  also  ■ 
able  to  prove,  that  he  was  forced  into  the  riot,  and  upheld 
while  there  by  two  bakers,  who  put  a Lochaber-axe  into  his  \ 
hand.  The  jury,  wisely  judging  this  poor  creature  could  be  no 
proper  subject  of  punishment,  found  the  panel  Not  guilty.  | 
The  same  verdict  was  given  in  the  case  of  Thomas  Linning,  \ 
also  mentioned  in  the  Solicitor’s  memorial,  who  was  tried  in 
1738.  In  short,  neither  then,  nor  for  a long  period  afterwards, 
was  any  thing  discovered  relating  to  the  organization  of  the 
Porteous  Plot. 

The  imagination  of  the  people  of  Edinburgh  was  long  irri- 
tated, and  their  curiosity  kept  awake,  by  the  mystery  attending 
this  extraordinary  conspiracy.  It  was  generally  reported  of 
such  natives  of  Edinburgh  as,  having  left  the  city  in  youth,  re- 


AUTHOR’S  NOTES.  379 

turned  with  a fortune  amassed  in  foreign  countries,  that  they 
had  originally  lied  on  account  of  their  share  in  the  Porteoun 
Mob.  But  little  credit  can  be  attached  to  these  surmises,  as  in 
most  of  the  cases  they  are  contradicted  by  dates,  and  in  none 
supported  by  any  thing  but  vague  rumours,  grounded  on  the 
ordinary  wish  of  the  vulgar,  to  impute  the  success  of  prosperous 
men  to  some  unpleasant  source.  The  secret  history  of  the 
Porteous  Mob  has  been  till  this  day  unravelled  ; and  it  has  al- 
ways been  quoted  as  a close,  daring,  and  calculated  act  of  vio- 
lence,  of  a nature  peculiarly  characteristic  of  the  Scottish 
people. 

Nevertheless,  the  author,  for  a considerable  time,  nourished 
hopes  to  have  found  himself  enabled  to  throw  some  light  on 
this  mysterious  story.  An  old  man,  who  died  about  twenty 
years  ago,  at  the  advanced  age  of  ninety- three,  was  said  to  have 
made  a communication  to  the  clergyman  who  attended  upon 
his  death-bed,  respecting  the  origin  of  the  Porteous  Mob.  This 
person  followed  the  trade  of  a carpenter,  and  had  been  em- 
ployed as  such  on  the  estate  of  a family  of  opulence  and  con- 
dition. His  character,  in  his  line  of  life  and  amongst  his 
neighbours,  was  excellent,  and  never  underwent  the  slightest 
suspicion.  His  confession  was  said  to  have  been  to  the  follow- 
ing purpose  : That  he  was  one  of  twelve  young  men  belonging 
to  the  village  of  Pathhead,  whose  animosity  against  Porteous, 
on  account  of  the  execution  of  Wilson,  was  so  extreme,  that 
they  resolved  to  execute  vengeance  on  him  with  their  own 
hands,  rather  than  he  should  escape  punishment.  With  this 
| resolution  they  crossed  the  Forth  at  different  ferries,  and  ren- 
dezvoused at  the  suburb  called  Portsburgh,  where  their  appear- 
ance in  a body  soon  called  numbers  around  them.  The  public 
mind  was  in  such  a state  of  irritation,  that  it  only  wanted  a 
single  spark  to  create  an  explosion  ; and  this  was  afforded  by 
the  exertions  of  the  small  and  determined  band  of  associates. 
The  appearance  of  premeditation  and  order  which  distinguished 
the  riot,  according  to  his  account,  had  its  origin,  not  in  any 
previous  plan  or  conspiracy,  but  in  the  character  of  those  who 
were  engaged  in  it.  The  story  also  serves  to  show  why  noth- 
ing of  the  origin  of  the  riot  has  ever  been  discovered,  since, 
though  in  itself  a great  conflagration,  its  source,  according  to 
this  account,  was  from  an  obscure  and  apparently  inadequate 
cause. 

I have  been  disappointed,  however,  in  obtaining  the  evidence 


3 8o 


AUTHOR’S  NOTES. 


I 

on  which  this  story  rests.  The  present  proprietor  of  the  estate 
on  which  the  old  man  died,  (a  particular  friend  of  the  author,) 
undertook  to  question  the  son  of  the  deceased  on  the  subject. 
This  person  follows  his  father’s  trade,  and  holds  the  employ- 
ment of  carpenter  to  the  same  family.  He  admits,  that  his 
father’s  going  abroad  at  the  time  of  the  Porteous  Mob  was 
popularly  attributed  to  his  having  been  concerned  in  that 
affair  ; but  adds,  that,  so  far  as  is  known  to  him,  the  old  man 
had  never  made  any  confession  to  that  effect;  and,  on  the  con- 
trary, had  uniformly  denied  being  present.  My  kind  friend, 
therefore,  had  recourse  to  a person  from  whom  he  had  formerly 
heard  the  story  ; but  who,  either  from  respect  to  an  old  friend’s 
memory,  or  from  failure  of  his  own,  happened  to  have  forgot- 
ten that  ever  such  a communication  was  made.  So  my  oblig- 
ing correspondent  (who  is  a fox-hunter)  wrote  to  me  that  he 
was  completely  'planted  ; and  all  that  can  be  said  with  respect 
to  the  tradition  is,  that  it  certainly  once  existed,  and  was  gen- 
erally believed. 

Note  IV.,  p.  129.  — Carspharn  John. 

r 

John  Semple,  called  Carspharn  John,  because  minister  of 
the  parish  in  Galloway  so  called,  was  a presbyterian  clergy- 
man of  singular  piety  and  great  zeal,  of  whom  Patrick  Walker 1 
records  the  following  passage  : “ That  night  after  his  wife  died, 
he  spent  the  whole  ensuing  night  in  prayer  and  meditation  in 
his  garden.  The  next  morning,  one  of  his  elders  coming  to 
see  him,  and  lamenting  his  great  loss  and  want  of  rest,  he  re- 
plied, — ‘ I declare  I have  not,  all  night,  had  one  thought  of 
the  dea/th  of  my  wife,  I have  been  so  taken  up  in  meditating 
on  heavenly  things.  I have  been  this  night  on  the  banks  of 
Ulai,  plucking  an  apple  here  and  there.’  ” — Walker’s  Remark - < 
able  Passages  of  the  Life  and  Death  of  Mr,  John  Semple, 

\ 

Note  V.,  p.  141.  — Peter  Walker. 

This  personage,  whom  it  would  be  base  ingratitude  in  the 
author  to  pass  over  without  some  notice,  was  by  far  the  most 
zealous  and  faithful  collector  and  recorder  of  the  actions  and 
opinions  of  the  Cameronians.  He  resided,  while  stationary,  at 
the  Bristo  Port  of  Edinburgh,  but  was  by  trade  an  itinerant 
merchant  or  pedlar,  which  profession  he  seems  to  have  exer- 


AUTHOR'S  NOTES. 


38* 

cised.  in  Ireland  as  well  as  Britain.  He  composed  biographical 
notices  of  Alexander  Peden,  John  Semple,  John  Wei  wood,  and 
Richard  Cameron,  all  ministers  of  the  Cameronian  persuasion, 
to  which  the  last  mentioned  member  gave  the  name. 

It  is  from  such  tracts  as  these,  written  in  the  sense,  feeling, 
and  spirit  of  the  sect,  and  not  from  the  sophisticated  narratives 
of  a later  period,  that  the  real  character  of  the  persecuted  class  is 
to  be  gathered.  Walker  writes  with  a simplicity  which  some- 
times slides  into  the  burlesque,  and  sometimes  attains  a tone  of 
simple  pathos,  but  always  expressing  the  most  daring  confidence 
in  his  own  correctness  of  creed  and  sentiments,  sometimes  with 
narrow-minded  and  disgusting  bigotry.  His  turn  for  the  mar- 
vellous was  that  of  his  time  and  sect ; but  there  is  little  room 
to  doubt  his  veracity  concerning  whatever  he  quotes  on  his  own 
knowledge.  His  small  tracts  now  bring  a very  high  price, 
especially  the  earlier  and  authentic  editions. 

The  tirade  against  dancing,  pronounced  by  David  Deans,  is, 
as  intimated  in  the  text,  partly  borrowed  from  Peter  Walker. 
He  notices,  as  a foul  reproach  upon  the  name  of  Richard  Cam- 
eron, that  his  memory  was  vituperated  “ by  pipers  and  fiddlers 
playing  the  Cameronian  march  — carnal  vain  springs,  which 
too  many  professors  of  religion  dance  to  ; a practice  unbecom- 
ing the  professors  of  Christianity  to  dance  to  any  spring,  but 
somewhat  more  to  this.  Whatever,15  he  proceeds,  “be  the 
many  foul  blots  recorded  of  the  saints  in  Scripture,  none  of 
them  is  charged  with  this  regular  fit  of  distraction.  We  find 
it  has  been  practised  by  the  wicked  and  profane,  as  the  danc- 
ing at  that  brutish,  base  action  of  the  calf- making  ; and  it  had 
been  good  for  that  unhappy  lass,  who  danced  off  the  head  of 
John  the  Baptist,  that  she  had  been  born  a cripple,  and  never 
drawn  a limb  to  her.  Historians  say,  that  her  sin  was  written 
upon  her  judgment,  who  some  time  thereafter  was  dancing  upon 
the  ice,  and  it  broke,  and  snapt  the  head  off  her ; her  head  danced 
above,  and  her  feet  beneath.  There  is  ground  to  think  and  con- 
clude, that  when  the  world’s  wickedness  was  great,  dancing  at 
their  marriages  was  practised  ; but  when  the  heavens  above, 
and  the  earth  beneath,  were  let  loose  upon  them  with  that 
overflowing  flood,  their  mirth  was  soon  staid  ; and  when  the 
Lord  in  holy  justice  rained  fire  and  brimstone  from  heaven 
upon  that  wicked  people  and  city  Sodom,  enjoying  fulness  of 
bread  and  idleness,  their  fiddle-strings  and  hands  went  all  in  a 
flame;  and  the  whole  people  in  thirty  miles  of  length,  and  ten 


3^2 


AUTHOR’S  NOTES. 


of  breadth,  as  historians  say,  were  all  made  to  fry  in  their  skins; 
and  at  the  end,  whoever  are  giving  in  marriages  and  dancing 
when  all  will  go  in  a flame,  they  will  quickly  change  their 
note. 

“ I have  often  wondered  thorow  my  life,  how  any  that  ever 
knew  what  it  was  to  bow  a knee  in  earnest  to  pray,  durst  crook 
a hough  to  fyke  and  fling  at  a piper’s  and  fiddler’s  springs.  I 
bless  the  Lord  that  ordered  my  lot  so  in  my  dancing  days,  that 
made  the  fear  of  the  bloody  rope  and  bullets  to  my  neck  and 
head,  the  pain  of  boots,  thumikens,  and  irons,  cold  and  hunger, 
wetness  and  weariness,  to  stop  the  lightness  of  my  head,  and  the 
wantonness  of  my  feet.  What  the  never-to-be-forgotten  Man  of 
God,  John  Knox,  said  to  Queen  Mary,  when  she  gave  him  that 
sharp  challenge,  which  would  strike  our  mean-spirited,  tongue- 
tacked  ministers  dumb,  for  his  giving  public  faithful  warning 
of  the  danger  of  the  church  and  nation,  through  her  marrying 
the  Dauphine  of  France,  when  he  left  her  bubbling  and  greet- 
ing, and  came  to  an  outer  court,  where  her  Lady  Maries  were 
fyking  and  dancing,  he  said,  ‘ 0 brave  ladies,  a brave  world,  if 
it  would  last,  and  heaven  at  the  hinder  end ! But  fye  upon 
the  knave  Death,  that  will  seize  upon  those  bodies  of  yours  ; 
and  where  will  all  your  fiddling  and  flinging  be  then  h ’ Danc- 
ing being  such  a common  evil,  especially  amongst  young  pro- 
fessors, that  all  the  lovers  of  the  Lord  should  hate,  has  caused 
me  to  insist  the  more  upon  it,  especially  that  foolish  spring  the 
Cameronian  march ! ” — Life  and  Death  of  three  Famous  Worthies , 
c .,  by  Peter  Walker , 12mo,  p.  59. 

It  may  be  here  observed,  that  some  of  the  milder  class  of 
Cameronians  made  a distinction  between  the  two  sexes  dancing 
separately,  and  allowed  of  it  as  a healthy  and  not  unlawful 
exercise  ; but  when  men  and  women  mingled  in  sport,  it  was 
then  called  promiscuous  dancing , and  considered  as  a scandalous 
enormity. 

Note  VI.,  pp.  161  and  220.  — Muschat’s  Cairn. 

Nicol  Muschat,  a debauched  and  profligate  wretch,  having 
conceived  a hatred  against  his  wife,  entered  into  a conspiracy 
with  another  brutal  libertine  and  gambler,  named  Campbell 
of  Burnbank,  (repeatedly  mentioned  in  Pennycuick’s  satirical 
poems  of  the  time,)  by  which  Campbell  undertook  to  destroy 
the  woman’s  character,  so  as  to  enable  Muschat,  on  false  pre- 
tences, to  obtain  a divorce  from  her.  The  brutal  devices  to 


AUTHOR’S  NOTES. 


383 


which  these  worthy  accomplices  resorted  for  that  purpose  hav- 
ing failed,  they  endeavoured  to  destroy  her  by  administering 
medicine  of  a dangerous  kind,  and  in  extraordinary  quantities. 

This  purpose  also  failing,  Nicol  Muschat,  or  Muschet,  did 
finally,  on  the  17th  October,  1720,  carry  his  wife  under  cloud 
of  night  to  the  King’s  Park,  adjacent  to  what  is  called  the 
Duke’s  Walk,  near  Holyrood  Palace,  and  there  took  her  life 
by  cutting  her  throat  almost  quite  through,  and  inflicting  other 
wounds.  He  pleaded  guilty  to  the  indictment,  for  which  he 
suffered  death.  His  associate,  Campbell,  was  sentenced  to 
transportation  for  his  share  in  the  previous  conspiracy.  See 
MacLaurin’s  Criminal  Cases,  pages  64  and  738. 

In  memory,  and  at  the  same  time  execration,  of  the  deed,  a 
cairn , or  pile  of  stones,  long  marked  the  spot.  It  is  now  al- 
most totally  removed,  in  consequence  of  an  alteration  on  the 
road  in  that  place. 

Note  VII.,  p,  200.  — Hangman,  or  Lockman. 

Lockman , so  called  from  the  small  quantity  of  meal  (Scottice, 
lock ) which  he  was  entitled  to  take  out  of  every  boll  exposed  to 
market  in  the  city.  In  Edinburgh  the  duty  has  been  very  long 
commuted  ; but  in  Dumfries  the  finisher  of  the  law  still  exer- 
cises, or  did  lately  exercise,  his  privilege,  the  quantity  taken 
being  regulated  by  a small  iron  ladle,  which  he  uses  as  the 
measure  of  his  perquisite.  The  expression  lock , for  a small 
quantity  of  any  readily  divisible  dry  substance,  as  corn,  meal, 
flax,  or  the  like,  is  still  preserved,  not  only  popularly,  but  in  a 
legal  description,  as  the  lock  and  gowpen , or  small  quantity  and 
handful,  payable  in  thirlage  cases,  as  in-town  multure. 

Note  VIII.,  p.  216.-— The  Fairy  Boy  of  Leith. 

This  legend  was  in  former  editions  inaccurately  said  to  exist 
in  Baxter’s  “ World  of  Spirits;  ” but  is,  in  fact,  to  be  found  in 
“ Pandaemonium,  or  the  Devil’s  Cloyster ; being  a further  blow 
to  Modern  Sadducism,”  by  Richard  Barton,  Gentleman,  12mo, 
1684.  The  work  is  inscribed  to  Dr.  Henry  More.  The  story 
is  entitled,  “ A remarkable  passage  of  one  named  the  Fairy 
Boy  of  Leith,  in  Scotland,  given  me  by  my  worthy  friend 
Captain  George  Burton,  and  attested  under  his  hand  ; !’  and 
is  as  follows  : — 


3*4 


AUTHOR’S  NOTES. 


“About  fifteen  years  since,  having  business  that  detained 
me  for  some  time  in  Leith,  which  is  near  Edenborough,  in  the 
kingdom  of  Scotland,  I often  met  some  of  my  acquaintance  at  a 
certain  house  there,  where  we  used  to  drink  a glass  of  wine  for 
our  refection.  The  woman  which  kept  the  house,  was  of  honest 
reputation  amongst  the  neighbours,  which  made  me  give  the 
more  attention  to  what  she  told  me  one  day  about  a Fairy  Boy 
(as  they  called  him)  who  lived  about  that  town.  She  had  given 
me  so  strange  an  account  of  him,  that  I desired  her  I might  see 
him  the  first  opportunity,  which  she  promised  ; and  not  long 
after,  passing  that  way,  she  told  me  there  was  the  Fairy  Boy 
but  a little  before  I came  by;  and  casting  her  eye  into  the 
street,  said,  ‘Look  you,  sir,  yonder  he  is  at  play  with  those 
other  boys/  and  designing  him  to  me,  I went,  and  by  smooth 
words,  and  a piece  of  money,  got  him  to  come  into  the  house 
with  me  ; where,  in  the  presence  of  divers  people,  I demanded 
of  him  several  astrological  questions,  which  he  answered  with 
great  subtility,  and  through  all  his  discourse  carryed  it  with  a 
cunning  much  beyond  his  years,  which  seemed  not  to  exceed 
ten  or  eleven.  He  seemed  to  make  a motion  like  drumming 
upon  the  table  with  his  fingers,  upon  which  I asked  him,  ; 
whether  he  could  beat  a drum,  to  which  he  replied,  ‘Yes,  sir, 
as  well  as  any  man  in  Scotland  ; for  every  Thursday  night  I 
beat  all  points  to  a sort  of  people  that  use  to  meet  under  yon-  < 
der  hill ’ (pointing  to  the  great  hill  between  Edenborough  and 
Leith.)  ‘ How,  boy/  quoth  I;  ‘what  company  have  you 
there  V — ‘ There  are,  sir/  said  he,  ‘ a great  company  both  of 
men  and  women,  and  they  are  entertained  with  many  sorts  of 
musick  besides  my  drum ; they  have,  besides,  plenty  variety 
of  meats  and  wine  ; and  many  times  we  are  carried  into  France  1 
or  Holland  in  a night,  and  return  again;  and  whilst  we  are  | 
there,  we  enjoy  all  the  pleasures  the  country  doth  afford. 1 I ; 
demanded  of  him,  how  they  got  under  that  hill  ? To  wThich 
he  replied,  ‘ that  there  were  a great  pair  of  gates  that  opened  to  < 
them,  though  they  were  invisible  to  others,  and  that  within 
there  were  brave  large  rooms,  as  well  accommodated  as  most  in 
Scotland.’  I then  asked  him,  how  I should  know  wdiat  he 
said  to  be  true  1 upon  which  he  told  me  he  would  read  my  for- 
tune, saying  I should  have  two  wives,  and  that  he  saw  the  forms 
of  them  sitting  on  my  shoulders;  that  both  would  be  very  hand- 
some women. 

“ As  he  was  thus  speaking,  a woman  of  the  neighbourhood. 


AUTHOR’S  NOTES. 


385 

coming  into  the  room,  demanded  of  him  what  her  fortune 
should  be  ! He  told  her  that  she  had  two  bastards  before  she 
was  married;  which  put  her  in  such  a rage,  that  she  desired 
not  to  hear  the  rest.  The  woman  of  the  house  told  me  that 
all  the  people  in  Scotland  could  not  keep  him  from  the  ren- 
dezvous on  Thursday  night  ; upon  which,  by  promising  him 
some  more  money,  I got  a promise  of  him  to  meet  me  at  the 
same  place,  in  the  afternoon  of  the  Thursday  following,  and 
so  dismissed  him  at  that  time.  The  boy  came  again  at  the 
place  and  time  appointed,  and  I had  prevailed  with  some 
friends  to  continue  with  me,  if  possible,  to  prevent  his  moving 
that  night  ; he  was  placed  between  us,  and  answered  many 
questions,  without  offering  to  go  from  us,  until  about  eleven  of 
the  clock,  he  was  got  away  unperceived  of  the  company ; but  I 
suddenly  missing  him,  hasted  to  the  door,  and  took  hold  of  him, 
and  so  returned  him  into  the  same  room  : we  all  watched  him, 
and  on  a sudden  he  was  again  got  out  of  the  doors.  I followed 
him  close,  and  he  made  a noise  in  the  street  as  if  he  had  been 
set  upon ; but  from  that  time  I could  never  see  him 

“ George  Burton/* 


Note  IX.,  p.  218.  — Intercourse  op  the  Covenanters 
with  the  Invisible  World. 

The  gloomy,  dangerous,  and  constant  wanderings  of  the  per- 
secuted sect  of  Cameronians,  naturally  led  to  their  entertaining 
with  peculiar  credulity  the  belief,  that  they  were  sometimes 
persecuted,  not  only  by  the  wrath  of  men,  but  by  the  secret 
wiles  and  open  terrors  of  Satan.  In  fact,  a flood  could  not 
happen,  a horse  cast  a shoe,  or  any  other  the  most  ordinary  in- 
terruption thwart  a minister’s  wish  to  perform  service  at  a par- 
ticular spot,  than  the  accident  was  imputed  to  the  immediate 
agency  of  fiends.  The  encounter  of  Alexander  Peden  with  the 
Devil  in  the  cave,  and  that  of  John  Semple  with  the  demon  in 
the  ford,  are  given  by  Peter  Walker,  almost  in  the  language  of 
the  text. 


Note  X.,  p.  225.  — - Child  Murder. 

The  Scottish  Statute  Book,  anno  1690,  chapter  21,  in  conse- 
quence of  the  great  increase  of  the  crime  of  child  murder,  both 
from  the  temptations  to  commit  the  offence  and  the  difficulty 


386 


AUTHOR’S  NOTES. 


of  discovery,  enacted  a certain  set  of  presumptions,  which,  in 
the  absence  of  direct  proof,  the  jury  were  directed  to  receive  as 
evidence  of  the  crime  having  actually  been  committed.  The 
circumstances  selected  for  this  purpose  were,  that  the  woman 
should  have  concealed  her  situation  during  the  whole  period  of 
pregnancy ; that  she  should  not  have  called  for  help  at  her  de- 
livery ; and  that,  combined  with  these  grounds  of  suspicion, 
the  child  should  be  either  found  dead  or  be  altogether  missing. 
Many  persons  suffered  death  during  the  last  century  under  this 
severe  act.  But  during  the  author’s  memory  a more  lenient 
course  was  followed,  and  the  female  accused  under  the  act,  and 
conscious  of  no  competent  defence,  usually  lodged  a petition  to 
the  Court  of  Justiciary,  denying,  for  form’s  sake,  the  tenor  of 
the  indictment,  but  stating,  that  as  her  good  name  had  been  de- 
stroyed by  the  charge,  she  was  willing  to  submit  to  sentence 
of  banishment,  to  which  the  crown  counsel  usually  consented. 
This  lenity  in  practice,  and  the  comparative  infrequency  of  the 
crime  since  the  doom  of  public  ecclesiastical  penance  has  been 
generally  dispensed  with,  have  led  to  the  abolition  of  the  statute 
of  William  and  Mary,  which  is  now  replaced  by  another,  impos- 
ing banishment  in  those  circumstances  in  which  the  crime  was 
formerly  capital.  This  alteration  took  place  in  1803. 

Note  XI.,  p.  265.  — Calumniator  of  the  Fair  Sex. 

The  journal  of  Graves,  a Bow-street  officer,  dispatched  to 
Holland  to  obtain  the  surrender  of  the  unfortunate  William 
Brodie,  bears  a reflection  on  the  ladies  somewhat  like  that  put 
in  the  mouth  of  the  police-officer  Sharpitlaw,  It  had  been 
found  difficult  to  identify  the  unhappy  criminal  ; and,  when  a 
Scotch  gentleman  of  respectability  had  seemed  disposed  to  give 
evidence  on  the  point  required,  his  son-in-law,  a clergyman  in 
Amsterdam,  and  his  daughter,  were  suspected  by  Graves  to 
have  used  arguments  with  the  witness  to  dissuade  him  from 
giving  his  testimony.  On  which  subject  the  journal  of  the 
Bow-street  officer  proceeds  thus  : 

“ Saw  then  a manifest  reluctance  in  Mr. , and  had  no 

doubt  the  daughter  and  parson  would  endeavour  to  persuade 
him  to  decline  troubling  himself  in  the  matter,  but  judged  he 
could  not  go  back  from  what  he  had  said  to  Mr,  Rich.  — Nota 
Bene.  No  mischief  hut  a woman  or  a 'priest  in  it  — here 
both.” 


AUTHOR’S  NOTES. 


387 


Note  XII.,  p.  280.  — Sir  William  Dick  of  Braid. 

This  gentleman  formed  a striking  example  of  the  instability 
of  human  prosperity.  He  was  once  the  wealthiest  man  of  his 
time  in  Scotland,  a merchant  in  an  extensive  line  of  commerce, 
and  a farmer  of  the  public  revenue  ; insomuch  that,  about  1640, 
he  estimated  his  fortune  at  two  hundred  thousand  pounds 
sterling.  Sir  William  Dick  was  a zealous  Covenanter  ; and 
in  the  memorable  year  1641,  he  lent  the  Scottish  Convention  of 
Estates  one  hundred  thousand  merks  at  once,  and  thereby  en- 
abled them  to  support  and  pay  their  army,  which  must  other- 
wise have  broken  to  pieces.  He  afterwards  advanced  L. 20,000 
for  the  service  of  King  Charles,  during  the  usurpation  ; and 
having,  by  owning  the  royal  cause,  provoked  the  displeasure  of 
the  ruling  party,  he  was  fleeced  of  more  money,  amounting  in 
all  to  L. 65,000  sterling. 

Being  in  this  manner  reduced  to  indigence,  he  went  to  Lon- 
don to  try  to  recover  some  part  of  the  sums  which  had  been 
lent  on  government  security.  Instead  of  receiving  any  satis- 
faction, the  Scottish  Croesus  was  thrown  into  prison,  in  which 
he  died,  19th  December,  1655.  It  is  said  his  death  was  has- 
tened by  the  want  of  common  necessaries.  But  this  statement 
is  somewhat  exaggerated,  if  it  be  true,  as  is  commonly  said, 
that  though  he  was  not  supplied  with  bread,  he  had  plenty  of 
piecrust,  thence  called  a Sir  William  Dick’s  necessity.” 

The  changes  of  fortune  are  commemorated  in  a folic  pamph- 
let entitled,  u The  lamentable  state  of  the  deceased  Sir  William 
Dick.”  It  contains  several  copper-plates,  one  representing  Sir 
William  on  horseback,  and  attended  with  guards  as  Lord  Pro- 
vost of  Edinburgh,  superintending  the  unloading  of  one  of  his 
rich  argosies.  A second  exhibiting  him  as  arrested,  and  in  the 
hands  of  the  bailiffs.  A third  presents  him  dead  in  prison. 
The  tract  is  esteemed  highly  valuable  by  collectors  of  prints. 
The  only  copy  I ever  saw  upon  sale,  was  rated  at  L.30. 

Note  XIII., p.  286.  — Meeting  at  Talla-Linns. 

This  remarkable  convocation  took  place  upon  15th  June, 
1682,  and  an  account  of  its  confused  and  divisive  proceedings 
may  be  found  in  Michael  Shield’s  Faithful  Contendings  Dis- 
played, Glasgow,  1780,  pv  21.  It  affords  a singular  and  melan- 
choly example  how  much  a metaphysical  and  polemical  spirit 
had  crept  in  amongst  these  unhappy  sufferers,  since,  amid  so 


388 


AUTHOR’S  NOTES. 


many  real  injuries  which  they  had  to  sustain,  they  were  dis- 
posed to  add  disagreement  and  disunion  concerning  the  char- 
acter and  extent  of  such  as  were  only  imaginary. 


Note  XIV.,  p.  356. — Doomster,  or  Dempster,  of  Court. 

The  name  of  this  officer  is  equivalent  to  the  pronouncer  of 
doom  or  sentence.  In  this  comprehensive  sense,  the  Judges  of 
the  Isle  of  Man  were  called  Dempsters.  But  in  Scotland  the 
word  was  long  restricted  to  the  designation  of  an  official  person, 
whose  duty  it  was  to  recite  the  sentence  after  it  had  been  pro- 
nounced by  the  Court,  and  recorded  by  the  clerk  ; on  which 
occasion  the  Dempster  legalized  it  by  the  words  of  form,  “ And 
this  I 'pronounce  for  doom”  For  a length  of  years,  the  office,  as 
mentioned  in  the  text,  was  held  in  commendam  with  that  of  the 
executioner  ; for  when  this  odious  but  necessary  officer  of  jus- 
tice received  his  appointment,  he  petitioned  the  Court  of  Justi- 
ciary to  be  received  as  their  Dempster,  which  was  granted  as  a 
matter  of  course. 

The  production  of  the  executioner  in  open  court,  and  in  pre- 
sence of  the  wretched  criminal,  had  something  in  it  hideous 
and  disgusting  to  the  more  refined  feelings  of  later  times.  But 
if  an  old  tradition  of  the  Parliament  House  of  Edinburgh  may 
be  trusted,  it  was  the  following  anecdote  which  occasioned  the 
disuse  of  the  Dempster’s  office. 

It  chanced  at  one. time  that  the  office  of  public  execu- 
tioner was  vacant.  There  was  occasion  for  some  one  to  act  as 
Dempster,  and,  considering  the  party  who  generally  held  the 
office,  it  is  not  wonderful  that  a locum  tenens  was  hard  to  be 
found.  At  length,  one  Hume,  who  had  been  sentenced  to 
transportation,  for  an  attempt  to  burn  his  own  house,  was  in- 
duced to  consent  that  he  would  pronounce  the  doom  on  this 
occasion.  But  when  brought  forth  to  officiate,  instead  of  re- 
peating the  doom  to  the  criminal,  Mr.  Hume  addressed  him-  | 
self  to  their  lordships  in  a bitter  complaint  of  the  injustice  of 
his  own  sentence.  It  was  in  vain  that  he  was  interrupted,  and 
reminded  of  the  purpose  for  which  he  had  come  hither  ; “ I 
ken  what  ye  want  of  me  weel  eneugh,”  said  the  fellow,  “ ye 
want  me  to  be  your  Dempster ; but  I am  come  to  be  none  of 
your  Dempster,  I am  come  to  summon  you,  Lord  T — , and 
you.  Lord  E — , to  answer  at  the  bar  of  another  world  for  the 
injustice  you  have  done  me  in  this.”  In  short,  Hume  had 


AUTHOR’S  NOTES, 


389 


only  made  a pretext  of  complying  with  the  proposal,  in  order 
to  have  an  opportunity  of  reviling  the  Judges  to  their  faces,  or 
giving  them,  in  the  phrase  of  his  country,  “ a sloan.”  He  was 
hurried  off  amid  the  laughter  of  the  audience,  but  the  inde- 
corous scene  which  had  taken  place  contributed  to  the  abolition 
of  the  office  of  Dempster.  The  sentence  is  now  read  over  by 
the  clerk  of  court,  and  the  formality  of  pronouncing  doom  is 
altogether  omitted. 


Note  XV.,  p.  361. — John  Duke  of  Argyle  and  Greenwich. 

This  nobleman  was  very  dear  to  his  countrymen,  who  were 
justly  proud  of  his  military  and  political  talents,  and  grateful 
for  the  ready  zeal  with  which  he  asserted  the  rights  of  his 
native  country.  This  was  never  more  conspicuous  than  in  the 
matter  of  the  Porteous  Mob,  when  the  Ministers  brought  in  a 
violent  and  vindictive  bill,  for  declaring  the  Lord  Provost  of 
Edinburgh  incapable  of  bearing  any  public  office  in  future,  for 
not  foreseeing  a disorder  which  no  one  foresaw,  or  interrupting 
the  course  of  a riot  too  formidable  to  endure  opposition.  The 
same  Bill  made  provision  for  pulling  down  the  city  gates,  and 
abolishing  the  city  guard,  — rather  a Hibernian  mode  of  en- 
abling them  better  to  keep  the  peace  within  burgh  in  future. 

The  Duke  of  Argyle  opposed  this  bill  as  a cruel,  unjust,  and 
fanatical  proceeding,  and  an  encroachment  upon  the  privileges 
of  the  royal  burghs  of  Scotland,  secured  to  them  by  the  treaty 
of  Union.  “ In  all  the  proceedings  of  that  time,”  said  his 
Grace,  “ the  nation  of  Scotland  treated  with  the  English  as  a 
free  and  independent  people ; and  as  that  treaty,  my  Lords, 
had  no  other  guarantee  for  the  due  performance  of  its  articles, 
but  the  faith  and  honour  of  a British  Parliament,  it  would  be 
both  unjust  and  ungenerous,  should  this  House  agree  to  any 
proceedings  that  have  a tendency  to  injure  it.5’ 

Lord  Hardwicke,  in  reply  to  the  Duke  of  Argyle,  seemed  to 
insinuate,  that  his  Grace  had  taken  up  the  affair  in  a party 
point  of  view,  to  which  the  nobleman  replied  in  the  spirited 
language  quoted  in  the  text  — Lord  Hardwicke  apologized. 
The  bill  was  much  modified,  and  the  clauses  concerning  the 
dismantling  the  city,  and  disbanding  the  Guard,  were  de- 
parted from.  A fine  of  L.2000  was  imposed  on  the  city  for 
the  benefit  of  Porteous’s  widow.  She  was  contented  to  accept 
three-fourths  of  the  sum,  the  payment  of  which  closed  the 


390 


AUTHOR’S  NOTES. 


transaction.  It  is  remarkable,  that,  in  our  day,  the  Magis- 
trates of  Edinburgh  have  had  recourse  to  both  those  measures, 
held  in  such  horror  by  their  predecessors,  as  necessary  steps 
for  the  improvement  of  the  city. 

It  may  be  here  noticed,  in  explanation  of  another  circum- 
stance mentioned  in  the  text,  that  there  is  a tradition  in  Scot- 
land, that  George  II.,  whose  irascible  temper  is  said  some- 
times to  have  hurried  him  into  expressing  his  displeasure  par 
voie  du  fait , offered  to  the  Duke  of  Argyle,  in  angry  audience, 
some  menace  of  this  nature,  on  which  he  left  the  presence  in 
high  disdain,  and  with  little  ceremony.  Sir  Robert  Walpole, 
having  met  the  Duke  as  he  retired,  and  learning  the  cause  of 
his  resentment  and  discomposure,  endeavoured  to  reconcile  him 
to  what  had  happened  by  saying,  “ Such  was  his  Majesty’s 
way,  and  that  he  often  took  such  liberties  with  himself  without 
meaning  any  harm  ” This  did  not  mend  matters  in  M’Cal- 
lummore’s  eyes,  who  replied,  in  great  disdain,  “ You  will  please 
to  remember,  Sir  Robert,  the  infinite  distance  there  is  betwixt 
you  and  me.”  Another  frequent  expression  of  passion  on  the 
part  of  the  same  monarch,  is  alluded  to  in  the  old  Jacobite 
song  — 

The  fire  shall  get  both  hat  and  wig. 

As  oft  times  they’ve  got  a’  that. 


EDITOR’S  NOTES. 


(a)  p.  xxviii.  Prolegomena,  u Quakers.”  “ They  were  tol- 
erated,” says  Wodrow,  “ because  not  a few  among  their  leading 
men  were  in  a close  friendship  with  the  Jesuits.”  Wodrow  also 
imagines  that  Scott’s  ancestor,  Lord  Swinton,  was  spared  when 
Argvle  was  executed,  by  the  intercession  of  “some  papists 
about  the  court.”  In  “The  Humble  Proposals  of  Mr.  Alex- 
ander Shields  to  the  General  Assembly  of  1690,”  Quakerism 
is  classed  with  “Popery,  Blasphemy,  and  all  Idolatry  and 
Heresy,  highly  'provoking  to  the  Lord  Jesus.”  (“  Biographia 
Presbyterian  a,”  ii.  xxxii.)  Jedediah  Cleishbotham  refers  to  all 
those  matters  of  his  Quaker  ancestors,  because  Dr.  McCrie,  in 
his  assault  on  “ Old  Mortality,”  had  spoken  of  the  author  as 
^necessarily  a descendant  either  of  Cavaliers  or  of  Covenanters. 

(b)  p.  22.  “ The  Causes  Celebres  of  Scotland.”  These 

were  edited  for  the  Bannatyne  Club  by  Mr.  Pitcairn,  and  the 
book  was  the  occasion  of  Scott’s  last  critical  article  in  the 
Quarterly  Review  (February  1831). 

(c)  p.  28.  “ Two  other  idle  young  men.”  The  Trial, 

reprinted  by  Constable  in  1818,  only  names  Robertson  and 
William  Hall.  The  book  has  a frontispiece  showing  the  Tol- 
booth  on  the  west,  forming  an  angle  with  the  church  on  the 
north.  The  Tolbooth  was  a tall  gaunt  building  of  four  storeys 
and  garrets,  with  the  staircases  in  the  two  round  towers  with 
pepper-caster  tops.  There  is  nothing  “ Gothic  ” in  the  archi- 
tecture, as  shown  in  the  print.  See  Wilson’s  “ Memorials  of  Old 
Edinburgh,”  ii.  70  (1878),  and  Dr.  Carlyle’s  “ Autobiography.” 
Dr.  Carlyle  saw  Wilson’s  execution,  and  dreamed  of  Por- 
teous’s  murder. 

(d)  p.  38.  “ Captain  John  Porteous.”  The  prefatory 

notice  to  the  Trial  of  Porteous  gives  him  a very  bad  character 
for  blasphemy.  “ Playing  at  Golf  once,  and  beat,  he  said 


392 


EDITOR’S  NOTES. 


there  was  no  justice  in  Heaven.”  Porteous  was  one  of  the  most 
renowned  golfers  of  an  age  in  which  Duncan  Forbes  of  Cul- 
loden  was  among  the  best,  and  golf  was  introduced  in  Italy 
by  Prince  Charles.  In  the  first  chapter  of  the  Badminton 
Book  of  Golf  some  account  of  Porteous’s  matches  is  given. 
Porteous  is  charged  with  every  kind  of  debauchery,  and  with 
cruelty  to  his  father  and  his  wife.  “ If  his  wife  was  in  heaven, 
he  said  he  would  hate  to  go  thither.”  In  Flanders  he  shot 
the  hen  of  an  old  woman,  who  prayed  that  u as  many  might 
gaze  and  wonder  on  him  as  that  hen  had  feathers  on  her 
body.”  He  was  also  “shrewdly  suspected  of  having  mur- 
dered his  captain.”  When  a crowd  collected,  “ you  have  seen 
a plentiful  crop  of  kicks,  cuffs,  blows,  and  strokes,  to  be  reaped 
from  his  feet,  fists,  and  cane.”  As  to  Porteous’s  murder  by  the 
mob,  Major-General  Moyle,  commanding  at  the  Castle,  says, 
“ this  unheard-of  barbarity  has  been  concerted  several  days, 
and  I am  surprised  the  magistrates  were  not  more  upon  their 
guard.  . . . The  Turnkey  of  the  prison  owned  he  had  a hint 
given  him  in  the  morning  that  the  prison  would  be  broke 
open  that  night.  The  magistrates  were  drinking  together  in 
the  Parliament  close  when  the  mob  first  assembled,  but  did  not 
care  to  read  the  Proclamation,  which  was  a very  great  neglect 
of  them.”  Moyle  adds  that  he  could  not  force  the  town  gates 
“ without  a legal  authority,”  which  is  true,  and  that  Porteous 
was  the  third  prisoner  taken  from  the  Tolbooth  and  lynched 
“ within  the  memory  of  man.”  (Letter  to  the  Duke  of  New- 
castle, Sept.  9,  1736.)  Lord  flay  says  (Oct.  16):  “The  most 
shocking  circumstance  is  that  the  High  Flyers  of  our  Scotch 
Church”  (Haldane,  Leslie,  and  Co.)  “have  made  this  in- 
famous murder  a point  of  conscience.  One  of  the  actors  went 
straight  away  to  a country  church  where  the  sacrament  was 
given  to  a vast  crowd  of  people,  as  the  fashion  is  here,  and 
there  boasted  of  what  he  had  done.  All  the  lower  rank  of  the 
people  who  have  distinguished  themselves  by  pretensions  to  a 
superior  sanctity  speak  of  this  murder  as  the  hand  of  God 
doing  justice.  I have  conversed  with  several  of  the  parsons, 
and  I observe  that  none  of  these  who  are  of  the  high  party 
will  call  any  crime  the  mob  can  commit  by  its  proper  name. 
Their  manner  of  talking,  were  it  universal,  would  extirpate 
religion  out  of  the  world  for  the  good  of  humane  society,  and 
indeed  I could  hardly  have  given  credit  to  the  public  reports 
of  the  temper  of  these  saints,  if  I had  not  myself  been  wit- 


EDITOR’S  NOTES.  393 

ness  to  it.”  Such  were  the  Auld  Leaven,  the  friends  of  Davie 
Deans. 

(e)  p.  38.  “ The  City  Guard.”  This  body  was  instituted  in 
1648.  They  were  convoked  for  the  last  time  in  February 
1817.  The  last  creeping  ghost  of  the  old  Guard  was  John 
Kennedv,  “ who  served  in  the  corps  ever  since  the  American 
War.” 

(/)  p.  129.  “Carspharn  John.”  This  gentleman,  by  the 
way,  proved  that  Burley’s  wrestling  match  with  Both  well  was 
not  so  out  of  character  as  Dr.  McCrie  imagined.  Being  set 
on  by  a kind  of  Gudyill,  servant  of  a persecuting  noble,  Mr. 
Semple  said:  “ If  you  will  lay  by  your  weapons  I will  wrestle 
a fall  with  you  for  my  life.”  (“  Life  and  Death  of  Mr.  John 
Semple.”  By  Patrick  Walker.)  (“Biographia  Presby teriana  ” 
i.  160.) 

( g ) p.  141.  “Peter  Walker.”  More  commonly  called 
Patrick,  but  the  names  were  almost  convertible  in  Scotland. 

(Ji)  p.  153.  “Affairs  of  honour.”  In  1600,  a barber,  Robert 
Auchmutie,  fought  another  citizen  in  the  King’s  Park,  and 
killed  him.  He  was  executed  “ for  having  presumed  to  take 
the  revenge  of  a gentleman.”  (Chambers.)  The  barber, 
however,  may  have  been  a gentleman.  Among  the  persons 
wounded  by  the  City  Guard  was  Patrick  Spalden,  son  of 
Spalden  of  Ashintully,  apprentice  to  a jeweller.  The  younger 
sons  of  the  Scotch  gentry  often  went  into  trade. 

(0  p.  182.  “ Popish  medals.”  A silver  medal  with  the 

head  of  James  III.,  and  the  motto  “Reddite,”  presented  by 
the  Duchess  in  1711,  and  accepted  by  a majority  of  sixty-three 
to  twelve. 

(Jc)  p.  182.  “ Bluidy  Mackenyie.”  The  King’s  Advocate, 

Sir  George  Mackenzie.  Outside  his  family  vaults  the  Edin- 
burgh boys  used  to  shout : - — 

Bluidy  Mackenzie,  come  out  if  ye  daur; 

Lift  the  sneck,  and  draw  the  bar ! 

(l)  p.  216.  “Richard  Bovet’s  Pandaemonium.”  In  the 
note  to  the  chapter  Bovetis  inadvertently  printed  “Barton.” 
See  Scott’s  “Poetical  Works,”  ii.  278,  and  ii.  312-15. 

(m)  p.  220.  “ The  execration  in  which  the  man’s  crime 

was  held.”  Some  one  was  so  far  from  execrating  this  mis- 
creant that  he  wrote  a pious  double  acrostic  in  Latin  elegiacs 


394 


EDITOR’S  NOTES. 


on  his  doom.  “ Nicolaus  Mushet  A Morte  Redemptus.” 
Muschat  left  a canting  confession  attributing  his  crime  to  a 
taste  for  reading  novels,  and  so  forth.  This  was  reprinted 
in  1818. 

( n ) p.  257.  “ A pen-gun.”  A small  popgun,  with  a quill 

for  the  barrel,  and  tiny  slices  of  raw  potato  for  ammunition. 

(o)  p.  277.  “The  act  to  be  read  in  churches.”  This  de- 
vice answers  to  the  French  Monitoires , spoken  of  by  Mr. 
Pleydell  in  “ Guy  Mannering.” 

(p)  p.  284.  “ I am  not  a MacMillanite.”  “ That  demented 

spirit  of  delusion  and  division  brake  out  in  Holland  at  Rot- 
terdam amongst  our  Scotch  sufferers  in  1679,  and  spread 
through  Scotland  like  Muirburn,  and  are  at  this  day  rampant 
in  Scotland,  which  is  all  one  spirit  of  delusion  and  division, 
and  confusions  of  Gibbites,  Russelites,  Harlites,  Howdonites, 
Adamites,  MacMillanites,  and  of  glancing  Glassites  lately  start 
up.”  They  all  sprang  from  Mr.  Hamilton’s  opinion  “that 
every  difference  of  judgment  in  our  national  controversies  is 
a ground  of  separation.”  So  says  Patrick  Walker,  who  did 
not  believe  in  “ The  Dissidence  of  Dissent.” 

( q ) p.  361.  “Ian  Roy  Cean.”  Of  this  Duke  of  Argyle 

Lady  Louisa  Stuart  says:  “ The  late  Lady told  me  that 

when  she  was  married  he  was  still  remarkably  handsome,  with 
manners  more  graceful  and  engaging  than  she  ever  saw  in 
anyone  else;  the  most  agreeable  person  in  conversation,  the 
best  teller  of  a story.  When  fifty-seven  thus  captivates  eight- 
een, the  natural  powers  of  pleasing  must  be  extraordinary.” 
The  Duke  married,  and  was  devoted  to,  “ a woman  not  hand- 
somer or  much  more  elegant  than  Jeanie  Deans,  though  very 
unlike  her  in  understanding.”  (Lockhart,  v.  361.) 

Jeanie  Deans’s  Duke  of  Argyle,  second  Duke  of  Argyle  and 
Duke  of  Greenwich  (1678-1743),  was  eldest  son  of  Archibald, 
first  Duke.  In  1694,  William  of  Orange  gave  him  a Regi- 
ment. He  was  distinguished  at  the  siege  of  Keyserswaert 
(1702).  He  helped  greatly  to  promote  the  Union.  He  fought 
with  credit  at  Ramilies  (1706),  at  Oudenarde  (1708),  and  his 
clothes  were  riddled  with  bullets  at  Malplaquet  (1709),  where 
he  led  an  attack  on  the  enemy,  who  were  posted  in  a wood. 
He  was  a strong  opponent  of  Marlborough’s,  for  what  reason 
is  not  very  apparent.  He  commanded  English  forces  in  Spain 
(1711),  and  resented  his  treatment  by  the  Government.  It  was 
not  very  difficult  “ to  set  Macallum  More’s  beard  in  a lowe.” 


EDITOR’S  NOTES. 


395 


In  1713  he  was  for  repeal  of  the  Union,  on  the  score  of  the 
Malt  Tax.  On  this  point  he  quarrelled  with  Swift,  and 
recovered  his  popularity  as  a Scotch  patriot.  He  secured  the 
Hanoverian  succession,  by  his  energy  at  the  death  of  Queen 
Anne,  and  won,  by  his  intrepidity,  the  applause  of  Colonel 
Henry  Esmond,  who  mentions  “ The  Scots  Duke  of  Argyle, 
whose  conduct  ended  ...  as  such  honesty  and  bravery 
deserved  to  end,  by  establishing  the  present  Royal  race  on  the 
English  throne.”  He  commanded  at  Sherriffmuir,  where, 
when  his  left  wing  was  cut  to  pieces,  he  hummed  : — 

If  it  be  weel  bobbit 

WeTl  bob  it  again. 

James  fled  from  Perth  at  his  approach,  and  the  Rebellion 
was  crushed.  In  1716  he  was  deprived  of  all  his  offices,  but 
they  were  restored  in  1718-19.  His  subsequent  career  is 
regarded  as  inconsistent,  by  Mr.  Henderson,  from  whose  article 
in  the  44  National  Dictionary  of  Biography  ” this  note  is 
abridged.  In  1725  he  carried  through  the  Malt  Tax,  in  spite  of 
riots  in  Glasgow.  His  conduct  as  regards  the  Porteous  mob  is 
explained  in  the  novel.  His  latest  discontents  encouraged  James 
to  address  him ; he  gave  the  letter  to  the  Government.  It  had 
been  handed  to  him  in  his  age  and  waning  health  by  a friend, 
whom  he  had  entertained  kindly.  At  the  moment  of  parting, 
“ that  creature  suddenly  turned  round  on  the  step  to  whisper, 
*1  had  orders  to  give  you  this,’  slipped  a paper  into  his  hand, 
leaped  in,  and  drove  away.” 1 “ That  the  enemies  of  the  House 
of  Hanover  should  have  dared  thus  to  tamper  with  him  . . . 
wounded  him  to  the  very  soul.  He  writhed  under  this  insult, 
could  never  forget  it,  and  Lady  Betty  (his  daughter)  affirmed 
that  to  his  last  hour  it  rankled  in  his  soul.”  The  wife  who 
was  not  beautiful  was  his  second,  Jane  Warburton,  of  Win- 
nington,  in  Cheshire.  One  of  his  daughters,  Lady  Mary  Coke, 
the  lively  child  in  the  novel,  left  Memoirs  privately  printed, 
with  an  introduction  by  Lady  Louisa  Stuart.  The  Duke  was 
succeeded  by  his  brother  Archibald.  Among  his  laurels,  not 
the  least  enviable  are  the  praises  of  Scott  and  Thackeray, 
passports  to  immortality.  He  was  of  course  the  Argyle  of 
“ Rob  Roy;  ” 44  Red  John  of  the  Battles.”  Lady  Louisa  Stuart 

1 Lady  Louisa  Stuart,  Introduction  to  4 4 Memoirs  of  Lady  Mary 
Coke.” 


396 


EDITOR’S  NOTES. 


mentions  his  opinion  of  Lady  Suffolk.  “He  valued  her  judg- 
ment so  highly  as  to  insist  upon  her  being  consulted  in  all 
cases  which  he  felt  his  Jane  unable  to  decide.”  His  Jane, 
Lady  Louisa  remarks,  had  an  intellect  on  a par  with  an  ordi- 
nary dairymaid’s.  “She  had  few  personal  charms  to  make 
amends  for  her  rusticity,  ignorance,  and  want  of  breeding.” 
The  Duke  worshipped  a miniature  of  her  which  bore  no 
resemblance  to  the  original.  “ Yes,”  he  said,  “ this  is  my 
Jane.”  He  was  a brilliant  story-teller;  she  always  interrupted 
him;  he  listened,  turned  round  with  a placid  smile,  and  said, 
“ There,  Jane  has  told  you  it.”  We  can  imagine  Jane  break- 
ing in  on  his  narrative  of  Jeanie  Deans,  told  to  Lady  Staun- 
ton. Scott  had  not  the  advantage  of  reading  Lady  Louisa 
Stuart’s  delightful  narrative,  “Finished  at  Ditton  Park  in 
March  1827,”  when  he  wrote  “The  Heart  of  Mid-Lothian.” 
The  lively  daughter  in  the  novel  is,  as  we  said,  Lady  Mary. 
“ Her  fearless  prattle  entertained  him ; ” she  could  banter  him 
on  Sherriffnmir. 


Readers  interested  in  the  history  of  the  Porteous  Riot  will 
find  some  account  of  it,  from  contemporary  manuscripts,  in  the 
Scottish  Review  for  July,  1892. 

The  Lady  Louisa  Stuart,  so  frequently  mentioned  as  a cor- 
respondent of  Scott’s,  was  the  youngest  daughter  of  Lord  Bute, 
the  unpopular  Minister.  She  was  born  Aug.  12,  1757,  and 
died,  unmarried,  Aug.  4,  1851,  aged  ninety-four.  Her  genius 
may  be  compared  to  that  of  Miss  Austen,  but  all  her  many 
manuscripts  were  burned  by  herself,  except  her  “ Memoir  of 
Lady  Mary  Coke  ” (privately  printed:  David  Douglas,  Edin- 
burgh, 1886-92)  and  her  letters.  It  is  understood  that  a 
selection  from  these  is  to  be  published. 


Andrew  Lang, 


GLOSSARY 


A*,  all. 

Aboon,  abune,  above. 

Acquent,  acquainted. 

Ae,  one. 

Aff,  off. 

Afore,  before. 

Agane,  against,  before. 

Agee,  twisted. 

Ahint,  behind. 

Ain,  own. 

Airn,  iron. 

Airt,  to  direct. 

Aiths,  oaths. 

Aits,  oats. 

Allenarly,  solely. 

A-low,  on  fire. 

Amaist,  almost. 

An,  if,  suppose. 

Ance,  once. 

Andrea  Ferrara,  the  Highland 
broadsword. 

Ane,  one. 

Aneath,  beneath. 

Anent,  regarding. 

Anes,  once. 

Anker,  a Dutch  liquid  measure 
= 10  wine  gallons. 
Athegither,  altogether. 
Atween,  between. 

Aught,  eight.  “ Aught  com- 
mand,” the  eighth  command- 
ment. 

Aught,  possession. 

Auld,  old.  “ Auld  sorrow,”  an 
old  wretch. 

Ava,  at  all. 

Awa,  away. 


Awee,  a little. 

Aweel,  well. 

Awmous,  alms. 

Awmrie,  a cupboard. 

Awsome,  terrible. 

Ayont,  beyond. 

Back-cast,  a misfortune. 

Bailie,  an  alderman. 

Bairn,  a child. 

Baith,  both. 

Bake,  a small  cake  or  biscuit. 
Band,  a bond. 

Bannock,  a flat  round  cake. 
Barken,  to  tan. 

Bauld,  bold. 

Bawbee,  a halfpenny. 

Bawtie,  guileful. 

Baxter,  a baker. 

Bean-hool,  bean-hull. 
Bend-leather,  thick  sole  leather. 
Bere,  a species  of  barley  with 
four  rows  of  grain. 

“Ben  the  house,”  inside,  into 
the  sitting-room. 

Bestial  — a term  used  to  denote 
all  the  cattle  on  an  estate. 
Bicker,  a wooden  vessel. 

Bide,  to  wait,  to  bear,  to  rest 
under. 

Bien,  comfortable. 

Biggonets,  a lady's  headdress. 
Bike,  a nest. 

Bink,  a bench. 

Birkie,  a lively  fellow. 

“ Black  cast,”  an  ill  turn. 
Blink,  a glimpse,  a twinkling. 


39» 


GLOSSARY. 


Blithe,  glad,  pleasant. 

Bluid,  blood. 

Boddle,  a small  copper  coin. 
Boobie,  the  lowest  scholar  on 
the  form,  a dunce. 

Boot- hose,  coarse  blue  upper 
stockings. 

Bouking,  soaking. 
Bouking-washing,  the  great 
annual  purification  of  the 
family  linen. 

Bountith,  bounty. 

Bow,  a boll  measure. 

Bowie,  a wooden  vessel  for  hold- 
ing milk. 

Brae,  a hill. 

Braw,  brave,  fine,  grand. 

Braws,  fine  clothes. 

Brecham,  a horse-collar. 
Breekens,  breeches. 

Brog,  to  pick  or  pierce. 

“Brugh  and  land,”  town  and 
country. 

Bruilzie,  a scuffle. 

Brunstane,  brimstone. 

Buller,  to  bellow. 

Bullsegg,  a gelded  bull. 

Busk,  to  dress  up. 

“ But  and  ben,”  the  outer  and 
the  inner  apartment  of  a 
house. 

By,  besides. 

Byre,  a cow-house. 

Ca*,  to  call. 

Ca’-throw,  an  ado,  a row 
Cadie,  a street  porter. 

Callant,  a lad. 

Caller,  cool,  fresh. 

Canna,  cannot. 

Canty,  mirthful,  jolly. 
Capernoity,  crabbed,  irritable. 
Caption,  a writ  to  imprison  a 
debtor. 

Carle,  a fellow. 

Carline,  a beldam. 

Carritch,  the  catechism 
Cast,  lot,  fate ; also,  to  throw. 
Cast-by,  a castaway. 

Cauld,  cold. 

Cauldrife,  chilly. 

Cautelous,  exceedinglv  careful. 


Ceeted,  cited. 

Chafts,  jaws. 

Chappit,  struck. 

“ Cheek  of  the  door,”  the  door- 
post. 

Chield,  a young  fellow. 

Chop,  a shop. 

Claith,  cloth. 

Claiths,  clothes. 

Clavering,  talking  idly  and 
foolishly. 

Clavers,  foolish  gossip. 

Claw,  to  scratch,  to  scrape. 
“ Claw  up  their  mittans,” 
to  give  them  the  finishing 
stroke. 

Cleckit,  latched. 

Cleek,  to  hook  up,  to  catch. 
Close,  an  alley. 

Close-head,  the  entry  to  an 
alley,  usually  the  rendezvous 
for  gossips. 

“ Clout  ower  the  croun,”  a 
crack  over  the  head. 
Cockernony,  a lady’s  top-knot. 
Cockit,  perched. 

Cockup,  a hat  or  cap  turned  up 
in  front. 

Cod,  a pillow. 

Cognosce,  to  investigate. 
Condescendence,  a specification 
of  particulars  on  any  subject. 
Crack,  cracks,  gossip  or  talk. 
Craft,  a croft. 

Crame,  a small  shop,  a stall. 
Crave,  to  demand. 

Crepe,  curl,  crimp. 

Crining,  pining. 

“ Crook  a hough,”  bend  a joint 
Cruppen,  crept. 

Cummer,  a gossip,  a midwife. 
Cu’ross,  Culross,  a village  on 
the  Firth  of  Forth. 

Curch,  a woman’s  cap. 

Curpel,  a crupper. 

Daffing,  folly  in  general. 

Daft,  crazy. 

Daiker,  to  jog  along. 

Daidling,  dabbling,  loitering. 
Dainty,  comely,  agreeable. 

I Daur,  dare. 


GLOSSARY. 


399 


“ Deas,  chamber  of,”  a parlour-, 
the  best  bedroom. 

Deave,  to  deafen. 

Deil,  the  devil.  “ Deil’s 
buckie,”  a perverse  or  refrac- 
tory person.  “ Deil  ane,” 
devil  a one.  “ Deil  haet  o’ 
me,”  the  devil  a bit  do  I 
know. 

Delate,  to  accuse. 

Deuk,  duck. 

Ding,  to  knock. 

Dinna,  do  not. 

Dirl,  a thrilling  knock. 

Disna,  does  not. 

Dispone,  to  make  over. 

Dittay,  an  indictment. 

Divot,  a piece  of  turf. 
Doch-an-dorroch  (Gaelic),  a 
parting  cup. 

Donnard,  stupid. 

Doo,  a dove. 

Dooms,  utterly. 

Door-cheek,  doorstep. 

Douce,  quiet,  respectable. 
Dought,  was  able  to. 

Doun,  down. 

Dounot,  a good-for-nothing. 
Downa,  do  not,  cannot. 

Dribble,  a drop. 

Driving,  throwing. 

Drow,  a fainting  fit,  a qualm. 
Duds,  rags. 

Dunch,  to  jog,  to  punch. 
Dyester,  a dyer. 

Ee,  the  eye. 

Een,  eyes. 

E’en,  even,  evening. 

Effeir,  rank,  station.  “ Effeir  of 
war,”  warlike  guise. 

Eik,  an  addition. 

Elshin,  an  awl. 

Eme,  uncle. 

Eneuch, eneugh, enough. 
Exauctorate,  to  dismiss  from 
service. 

Exoner,  to  exonerate ; to  free 
from  any  burden  or  charge. 

Eabbs,  lies 
Fand,  found. 


Fash,  fasherie,  trouble. 

Fauld,  to  fold. 

Fause,  false. 

Faut,  fault. 

Fence,  to  open  Parliament  or  a 
court  of  law. 

Fend,  to  defend,  to  keep  out 
bad  weather,  to  provide  against 
want. 

Fickle,  to  puzzle. 

File,  to  defile,  to  spoil. 

Fit,  foot. 

Fleg,  a fright. 

Flit,  to  remove. 

Flow-moss,  a watery  moss,  a 
morass. 

Forby,  besides. 

Fore-bar,  the  part  of  a court- 
room reserved  for  counsel. 
Forgather,  to  come  together, 
to  become  intimate. 

Forpit,  a measure  equal  to  the 
fourth  of  a peck. 

Fou,  full,  drunk. 

Frae,  from. 

Fund,  found. 

Fyke,  bustle,  funk. 

Gab,  the  mouth. 

Gaed,  went. 

Gait,  a goat. 

Gang,  to  go. 

Gar,  to  make,  to  oblige. 
Gare-brained,  mad. 

Gate,  way,  direction,  manner. 
Gauger,  an  exciseman. 

Gaun,  going. 

“ Gaun  pleas,”  pending  law 
pleas. 

Gaunt,  yawn. 

Gawsie,  plump,  jolly. 

“ Gay  sure,”  pretty  sure. 

Gear,  property. 

Gee,  the  pet. 

Geeing,  giving. 

Gentles,  aristocracy. 

Gie,  give. 

Gied,  gave. 

Gien,  given. 

Gif-gaf,  mutual  giving. 

Gilpy,  a frolicsome  young  per- 
son. 


GLOSSARY. 


460 

Gin,  if,  suppose. 

Girn,  to  grin. 

Glaik,  a dazzling  gleam  of  light. 

Glaiks,  dust,  deception. 

Glancing-glass,  a glass  used  by 
children  for  reflecting  the 
rays  of  the  sun  on  any  object. 
The  term  is  metaphorically 
applied  to  a minister  of  the 
gospel,  who  makes  a great 
show,  without  possessing 
solidity. 

Gled,  glede,  a kite. 

Gleg,  active,  sharp.  “ Gleg  as 
a gled,”  as  hungry  as  a hawk. 

GlifF,  an  instant. 

Glower,  to  stare. 

Gollop,  to  gulp. 

Gotten,  secured. 

Gousty,  haunted. 

Goutte,  a drop. 

Gowden,  golden. 

Graith,  harness,  a girth;  also, 
furniture. 

Grat,  cried. 

Gree,  to  agree. 

Greet,  grat,  to  cry,  to  weep 

Grewsome,  grim. 

Grit,  great. 

Gude,  God,  good. 

Gudeman,  husband,  the  head  of 
the  house. 

Gude  wife,  a familiar  term  ap- 
plied to  a wife  as  head  of  the 
household. 

Guide,  to  treat,  to  direct. 

Gulley,  a knife. 

Gyte,  crazy. 

Hadden,  held. 

Hae,  have. 

Haet,  a bit,  an  atom. 

Hafflins,  young,  entering  the 
teens. 

Haft,  custody. 

“ Hagbuts  of  found,”  a kind  of 
firearms  anciently  used. 

Haill,  hale,  whole,  entire. 

Hand-waled,  remarkable,  care- 
fully selected. 

Harle,  to  drag,  to  trail  along 
the  ground. 


Ha’arst,  harvest. 

Hand,  to  hold. 

Havings,  behaviour. 
Healsomeness,  wholesomeness 
Hellicat,  half-witted. 

Hership,  plundering,  booty. 
Hest,  command,  behest. 

Het,  hot. 

Hing,  hang. 

Hinny,  a term  of  endearment  = 
honey ! 

Hog,  a young  unshorn  sheep. 
Hough,  the  thigh  or  hip. 
Howdie,  a midwife. 

Howff,  haunt. 

Ilk,  of  the  same  name. 

Ilka,  each,  every. 

Ilka- day,  week-day. 
Implement,  to  fulfil. 

“ In  by,”  inside  the  house. 
Ingan,  an  onion. 

Ingine,  ingenuity. 

Ingle,  fire.  Ingle-side,  fire* 
side. 

Input,  contribution. 

Instruct,  to  show  evidence  for. 
Intromit,  to  meddle. 

I’se,  I shall. 

Ither,  other. 

Jagg,  a prick  (as  with  a pin). 
Jaud,  a jade. 

Jo,  joe,  a sweetheart. 

Jo  wing,  the  swinging  noise  of  a 
large  bell. 

Kail,  cabbage. 

Kale,  kail,  soup,  broth. 

Keepit,  kept. 

Ken,  to  know. 

Kepp,  to  catch,  to  stop. 
Killing-time,  the  time  of  per- 
secution. 

Kirk,  church. 

Kittle,  ticklish,  slippery. 

Kye,  cows. 

Kythe,  to  seem,  to  appear. 

Laiking,  sporting. 

Laird,  a squire,  lord  of  the 
manor. 


GLOSSARY. 


401 


Lamour,  amber. 

Lane,  lone,  alone.  By  a pecu- 
liar idiom,  in  the  Scotch  this 
is  frequently  conjoined  with 
the  pronoun  : as,  “ his  lane,” 
“their  lane,”  by  himself,  by 
themselves. 

Lavrock,  a lark. 

Lay,  lea. 

“ Lead  grain,”  to  carry  in 
grain. 

“ Leal  and  soothfast,”  truth- 
ful and  honest. 

Learn,  to  teach. 

Lee,  a lie. 

Lese-majesty,  treason. 

Lift,  the  sky. 

Limmer,  a jade,  a scoundrel. 
Lippen,  to  rely  upon. 

Lounder,  to  thump. 
Loundering,  a beating. 

Lug,  the  ear. 

Lum,  a chimney. 

Lunnon,  London. 

Lying- dog,  a setter. 

Mail,  to  stain. 

Mailing,  farm  rent. 

Mair,  more. 

“Mair  by  token,”  especially, 
moreover. 

Maist,  most. 

Maisty,  mastery,  power. 

Manse,  a Scotch  parsonage. 
Man-sworn,  perjured. 
Mashackered,  massacred. 
Maun,  must. 

Maunder,  to  palaver,  to  talk 
nonsense. 

Maunna,  must  not. 

Maw,  to  mow. 

Meal-ark,  a meal-chest. 

Mear,  a mare. 

Merse,  Berwickshire. 

Messan,  a cur. 

Mind,  to  remember. 
Mishguggle,  to  mangle. 

Misca’,  to  miscall,  to  malign. 
Misset,  displeased,  out  of 
humour. 

Mister,  want. 

Mittans,  woollen  gloves. 


Mony,  many. 

“ Morn,  the,”  to-morrow. 
Moss-hag,  a bog-pit. 

Motty,  full  of  motes. 

Muckle,  much. 

Muir,  a moor. 

Mutch,  a headdress  for  a 
female. 

Na,  nae,  no,  not. 

“Nae  gate,”  nowhere. 

Nae  thing,  nothing. 

Nane,  none. 

Natheless,  nevertheless. 
Nay-say,  the  contrary. 

Neebors,  neighbours. 

Neger,  a negro. 

Neist,  next. 

Nevvy,  nephew. 

Niffer,  exchange. 

Niffering,  exchanging,  bar- 
gaining. 

Noop,  a protuberance  (as  of  the 
elbow),  the  bone  at  the  elbow- 
joint. 

Nuik,  the  corner  of  anything. 

Oe,  a grandchild. 

On-ding,  a heavy  fall  (as  of 
snow). 

Ony,  any. 

Or,  before. 

Out-by,  without. 

Ower,  over. 

Owerlay,  a cravat,  a covering. 

Paiks,  blows. 

Paitrick,  a partridge. 
Parochine,  parish. 
Passemented,  guarded  with 
lace,  fringe,  etc. 

Passments,  fringes. 

Pawky,  wily,  sly. 

Peat-haggs,  sloughs  in  places 
whence  peat  has  been  dug. 
Peeble,  to  pelt. 

Pendicle,  a small  piece  of 
land. 

Pen-gun,  a popgun. 
Perduellion,  the  worst  kind  of 
treason. 

Pettle,  to  indulge. 


402 


GLOSSARY. 


Philabeg,  the  Highland  kilt. 
Piequeerings,  disputes. 

Pirn,  a reel. 

Pismire,  a steelyard. 

Pit,  to  put. 

Plack,  a small  copper  coin. 
Plague,  trouble,  annoyance. 
Plea-house,  a courthouse. 
Pleugh,  a plough. 

Plough-gate,  as  much  land  as 
can  properly  be  tilled  by  one 
plough  = about  40  Scots  acres. 
Ploy,  an  entertainment,  a 
spree. 

Pock,  a bag. 

Pofifle,  a small  piece  of  land. 
Polonie,  a greatcoat. 

Poorfu’,  powerful. 

Poppling,  bubbling,  purling, 
rippling. 

Pouch,  a pocket. 

Powny,  a pony. 

Prig,  to  entreat  earnestly. 
Prokitor,  a procurator. 
Propone,  to  propose. 

Pu’pit,  a pulpit. 

Puir,  poor. 

Pykit,  picked. 

Quean,  a wench,  a young  woman. 
Queering,  quizzing. 

Quillet,  quibble. 

Quotha,  forsooth. 

Rabble,  to  mob. 

Rannell-trees,  a beam  across 
the  fireplace  for  suspending 
a pot. 

Rap,  to  swear  falsely. 

Rax,  to  stretch. 

Reckan,  pining,  miserable 
Redargue,  to  reply  to  (legal). 

“ Redding  up,”  clearing  up. 
Reek,  smoke. 

“Riding  o’  the  Parliament,” 
denoting  the  cavalcade  of  the 
king  to  the  Parliament  House 
in  Edinburgh. 

Rin,  to  run. 

Rin-there-out,  a vagabond. 
Rive,  to  rend,  to  tear. 
Rockelay,  a short  cloak. 


Rubbit,  robbed. 

“ Run  goods,”  smuggled  goods. 

Sackless,  guileless. 

Sae,  so. 

Sair,  sore. 

Sail,  shall. 

“ Samen,  the  old,”  the  same  as 
before. 

Sark,  a shirt. 

Sauld,  sold. 

Saunt,  a saint. 

Saw,  a sow. 

Saw,  to  sow. 

Scart,  a scratch. 

Schule,  a school. 

Sclate,  slate. 

Scraughin,  screeching. 

Scule,  a school. 

Sect,  set. 

Seiled,  strained  out. 

Seip,  to  ooze. 

“ Sell  o’  ye,”  yourself. 

Shoon,  shoes. 

Shouther,  the  shoulder. 

Sic,  such. 

Siller,  money.  Sillerless,  with- 
out money. 

Silly,  weak,  frail. 

Silly-health,  poorly. 

Simmer,  summer. 

Skaith,  harm. 

Skaithless,  unharmed,  unin- 
jured. 

Skeel,  skill. 

Skelping,  a beating. 

“ Skin  and  birn,”  the  whole 
thing. 

Skirl,  to  squeal,  to  sing  vocifer- 
ously. 

Skulduddery,  low  talk,  balder- 
dash. 

Slake,  to  besmear. 

Snapper,  a stumble. 

Sodger,  a soldier. 

Soothfast,  honest. 

Sorrow.  A term  unwarrantably 
used  in  imprecations  or  strong 
asseverations,  equivalent  to 
English  “ plague,”  &c. 

Sort,  to  arrange,  to  accom- 
modate. 


GLOSSARY. 


403 


Sough,  to  sigh. 

Soup,  sup. 

Speer,  to  inquire,  to  ask. 

Spiel,  to  climb. 

Staig,  a horse. 

Stanchels,  iron  bars  for  securing 
windows. 

Sted,  to  establish,  to  supply,  to 
place. 

Stern,  a star. 

Stirk,  a steer. 

Stoup,  a wooden  vessel. 
Straughted,  stretched,  made 
straight. 

Stude,  stood. 

Suld,  should. 

Sunkits,  victuals. 

Swither,  doubt,  hesitation. 

Syne,  since,  ago. 

Ta,  the. 

Tae,  the  one. 

Taen,  taken. 

Tailzie,  an  entail. 

Tait,  a lock  (of  wool). 

Tane,  the  one. 

Tangs,  the  tongs. 

“ Tape  out,”  to  use  sparingly. 
Tauld,  told. 

Tawpie,  an  awkward  girl. 
Tawse,  a strap  cut  into  tails 
at  one  end  for  whipping  boys. 
Teil,  the  devil. 

“ Ten  Mark  Court,”  a former 
Scotch  small  debt  court. 
Tender,  delicate  (as  to  health), 
weakly,  ailing. 

Thae,  these,  those. 

Thegither,  together. 

Thirlage,  servitude. 

Thole,  to  suffer,  to  endure. 
Thraw,  to  throw. 

Thrawart,  cross-grained. 
Thrawn,  crabbed. 
Threshie-coat,  a rough  weather 
coat. 

Thretty,  thirty. 

Tint,  lost. 

Tither,  tother,  the  other. 

Tittie,  a little  pet,  a sister. 
Tocher,  a marriage  portion. 
Tod,  a fox. 


Toom,  empty. 

Touk,  a beat  (as  of  a drum). 
Towmont,  a twelvemonth. 
Traiking,  lounging,  dangling. 
Trailing,  dangling,  following 
after. 

Trinquet,  to  correspond. 

Trow,  to  believe. 

Trowling,  rolling. 

Tuilzie,  a disturbance. 

Twa,  two. 

Twal,  twelve. 

Tyne,  to  lose. 

Unco,  very,  unusual,  par- 
ticularly. 

Until,  unto. 

Uphaud,  to  uphold. 

Wa’,  wall. 

Wad,  a pledge,  a wager. 

Wad,  would. 

Wadna,  would  not. 

Wae,  woe. 

Waefu’,  woful. 

Waesome,  woful. 

Waled,  chosen. 

Wally-draigle,  a poor  weak 
creature. 

“Wan  out,”  got  out. 

Wan- thriven,  stunted,  decayed. 
Ware,  to  expend,  to  lay  out. 
Wark,  work. 

Warse,  worse. 

Warstle,  wrestle. 

Wasna,  was  not. 

Wat,  wet. 

Watna,  wot  not. 

Waur,  worse. 

Wean,  a child. 

Wee,  little,  small. 

Weel,  well. 

Weird,  destiny. 

Wha,  who. 

Whan,  when. 

“ What  for,”  why. 

“ Whaup  in  the  rape,”  some- 
thing wrong  or  rotten;  lit., 
a pod  in  the  rope. 

Wheen,  a few. 

Whiles,  sometimes. 

Whilk,  which. 


404 


GLOSSARY. 


Whillywha,  to  wheedle. 
Whirrying,  flying  rapidly. 
Whisht ! hush  ! be  silent ! 
Wi’,  with. 

Willy ard,  wild,  shy. 
Wimple,  winding  turn. 
Win,  to  get. 

Winna,  will  not. 

Woodie,  the  gallows. 
Worset,  worsted. 

Wotna,  do  not  know. 
Wull-cat,  a wild  cat. 


Wun,  win,  get. 

Wunna,  will  not. 

“ Wunnin  in,”  getting  in. 
Wuss,  to  wish. 

Wuzzent,  withered. 
Wyte,  blame,  fault. 

Ye  aid,  barren. 

Yealdon,  fuel. 

Yerl,  earl. 

Yestreen,  last  night. 
Yont,  beyond,  away  from. 


END  OF  VOL.  L 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN 


TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 


SECOND  SERIES. 


Hear,  Land  o’  Cakes  and  brither  Scots, 

Frae  Maidenkirk  to  Jonny  Groats’, 

If  there’s  a hole  in  a*  your  coats, 

I rede  ye  tent  it; 

A chief’s  amang  you  takin’  notes, 

An’  faith  hell  prent  it  ? 

Burns. 


Ahora  bien,  dixo  il  Cura , traedme , senor  huesved , aquesos  libros, 
que  los  quiero  ver.  Que  me  place,  responded  el;  y entrando , ew  su 
aposento,  sac6  del  una  maletilla  vieja  cerrada  con  una  cadenilla , ^ 
abriendola , hallo  en  ella  tres  libros  grandes  y unos  papeles  de  muy 
buena  letra  escritos  de  mano.  — Don  Quixote,  Parte  I.  Capitulo  32. 


It  is  mighty  well,  said  the  priest ; pray,  landlord,  bring  me  those 
books,  for  I have  a mind  to  see  them.  With  all  my  heart,  answered 
the  host ; and,  going  to  his  chamber,  he  brought  out  a little  old 
cloke-bag,  with  a padlock  and  chain  to  it,  and,  opening  it,  he  took 
out  three  large  volumes,  and  some  manuscript  papers  written  in  a 
fine  character.  — Jarvis’s  Translation. 


I 


THE 

HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN. 


* 

CHAPTEE  I. 

Isab.  Alas  ! what  poor  ability’s  in  me 
To  do  him  good  7 

Lucio.  Assay  the  power  you  have. 

Measure  for  Measure. 

When  Mrs.  Saddletree  entered  the  apartment  in 
which  her  guests  had  shrouded  their  misery,  she 
found  the  window  darkened.  The  feebleness  which 
followed  his  long  swoon  had  rendered  it  necessary 
to  lay  the  old  man  in  bed.  The  curtains  were 
drawn  around  him,  and  Jeanie  sate  motionless  by 
the  side  of  the  bed.  Mrs.  Saddletree  was  a woman 
of  kindness,  nay,  of  feeling,  but  not  of  delicacy. 
She  opened  the  half-shut  window,  drew  aside  the 
curtain,  and  taking  her  kinsman  by  the  hand,  ex- 
horted him  to  sit  up,  and  bear  his  sorrow  like  a good 
man,  and  a Christian  man,  as  he  was.  But  when 
she  quitted  his  hand,  it  fell  powerless  by  his  side, 
nor  did  he  attempt  the  least  reply. 

“ Is  all  over  ? ” asked  Jeanie,  with  lips  and  cheeks 
as  pale  as  ashes, — “And  is  there  nae  hope  for  her?,, 

“ Nane;  or  next  to  nane,”  said  Mrs.  Saddletree  ; “ I 
heard  the  Judge-carle  say  it  with  my  ain  ears  — It 

I 


2 


TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 


was  a burning  shame  to  see  sae  mony  o’  them  set  up 
yonder  in  their  red  gowns  and  black  gowns,  and  a* 
to  take  the  life  o1  a bit  senseless  lassie.  I had  never 
muckle  broo  o’  my  gudeman’s  gossips,  and  now  I like 
them  waur  than  ever.  The  only  wiselike  thing  I 
heard  ony  body  say,  was  decent  Mr.  John  Kirk  of 
Kirk-knowe,  and  he  wussed  them  just  to  get  the 
king’s  mercy,  and  nae  mair  about  it.  But  he  spake 
to  unreasonable  folk  — he  might  just  hae  keepit  his 
breath  to  hae  blawn  on  his  porridge.” 

“ But  can  the  king  gie  her  mercy  ?”  said  Jeanie, 
earnestly.  “ Some  folk  tell  me  he  canna  gie  mercy 

in  cases  of  mur in  cases  like  hers.” 

“ Can  he  gie  mercy,  hinny  ? — I weel  I wot  he 
can , when  he  likes.  There  was  young  Singlesword, 
that  stickit  the  Laird  of  Ballencleuch,  and  Captain 
Hackum,  the  Englishman,  that  killed  Lady  Col- 
grain’s  gudeman,  and  the  Master  of  Saint  Clair, 
that  shot  the  twa  Shaws,  (a) 1 and  mony  mair  in 
my  time  — to  be  sure  they  were  gentle  blude,  and  , 
had  their  kin  to  speak  for  them  — And  there  was 
Jock  Porteous  the  other  day — - Pse  warrant  there’s 
mercy,  an  folk  could  win  at  it.” 

“ Porteous  ? ” said  Jeanie  ; “ very  true  — I for- 
get a’  that  I suld  maist  mind. — Fare  ye  weel,  Mrs. 
Saddletree  ; and  may  ye  never  want  a friend  in  the 
hour  o’  distress  ! ” 

“ Will  ye  no  stay  wi’  your  father,  Jeanie,  bairn? 
— Ye  had  better,”  said  Mrs.  Saddletree. 

“ I will  be  wanted  ower  yonder,”  indicating  the 
Tolbooth  with  her  hand,  “and  I maun  leave  him 
now,  or  I will  never  be  able  to  leave  him.  I fearna 

1 See  Editor’s  Notes  at  the  end  of  the  Volume.  Wherever  a 
similar  reference  occurs,  the  reader  will  understand  that  the  same 
direction  applies. 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTIIIAN. 


3 


for  his  life  — I ken  how  strong-hearted  he  is  — 
I ken  it,”  she  said,  laying  her  hand  on  her  bosom, 
“by  my  ain  heart  at  this  minute/* 

“ Weel,  hinny,  if  ye  think  it’s  for  the  best,  bet- 
ter he  stay  here  and  rest  him,  than  gang  back  to  St. 
Leonard’s.” 

“ Muckle  better  — muckle  better  — - God  bless 
you  — God  bless  you  ! — At  no  rate  let  him  gang 
till  ye  hear  frae  me,”  said  Jeanie. 

" But  ye’ll  be  back  belive  ? ” said  Mrs.  Saddle- 
tree, detaining  her;  “ they  wunna  let  ye  stay  yon- 
der, hinny.” 

“ But  I maun  gang  to  St.  Leonard’s  — there’s 
muckle  to  be  dune,  and  little  time  to  do  it  in  — 
And  I have  friends  to  speak  to  — God  bless  you  — - 
take  care  of  my  father.” 

She  had  reached  the  door  of  the  apartment, 
when,  suddenly  turning,  she  came  back,  and  knelt 
down  by  the  bedside.  — “ 0 father,  gie  me  your 
blessing  — I dare  not  go  till  ye  bless  me.  Say  but 
God  bless  ye,  and  prosper  ye,  Jeanie  — try  but  to 
say  that ! ” 

Instinctively,  rather  than  by  an  exertion  of  in- 
tellect, the  old  man  murmured  a prayer,  that  “ pur- 
chased and  promised  blessings  might  be  multiplied 
upon  her.” 

“ He  has  blessed  mine  errand,”  said  his  daughter, 
rising  from  her  knees,  “ and  it  is  borne  in  upon  my 
mind  that  I shall  prosper.” 

So  saying,  she  left  the  room. 

Mrs.  Saddletree  looked  after  her,  and  shook  her 
head.  “ I wish  she  binna  roving,  poor  thing  — 
There’s  something  queer  about  a*  thae  Deanses. 
I dinna  like  folk  to  be  sae  muckle  better  than  other 
folk  — seldom  comes  gude  o’t.  But  if  she’s  gaun  to 


4 


TALES  OE  MY  LANDLORD. 


look  after  the  kye  at  St,  Leonard’s,  that’s  another 
story  ; to  be  sure  they  maun  be  sorted. — Grizzie, 
come  up  here,  and  take  tent  to  the  honest  auld 
man,  and  see  he  wants  naething,  — Ye  silly  taw- 
pie,”  (addressing  the  maid-servant  as  she  entered,) 

“ what  garr’d  ye  busk  up  your  cockernony  that 
gate  ? — I think  there’s  been  eneugh  the  day  to  gie 
an  awfu’  warning  about  your  cockups  and  your  fal- 
lal duds  — see  what  they  a’  come  to,”  &c.  &c. 
&c. 

Leaving  the  good  lady  to  her  lecture  upon  worldly 
vanities,  we  must  transport  our  reader  to  the  cell  in 
which  the  unfortunate  Effie  Deans  was  now  im- 
mured, being  restricted  of  several  liberties  which  she 
had  enjoyed  before  the  sentence  was  pronounced. 

When  she  had  remained  about  an  hour  in  the 
state  of  stupified  horror  so  natural  in  her  situation, 
she  was  disturbed  by  the  opening  of  the  jarring 
bolts  of  her  place  of  confinement,  and  Ratcliffe 
showed  himself.  “ It’s  your  sister,”  he  said,  “ wants  < 
to  speak  t’ye,  Effie  ” 

“ I canna  see  naebody,”  said  Effie,  with  the  hasty 
irritability  which  misery  had  rendered  more  acute 
— “I  canna  see  naebody,  and  least  of  a’  her  — Bid 
her  take  care  of  the  auld  man  — I am  naething  to 
ony  o’  them  now,  nor  them  to  me.” 

“ She  says  she  maun  see  ye,  though,”  said  Rat- 
cliffe ; and  Jeanie,  rushing  into  the  apartment,  j 
threw  her  arms  round  her  sister’s  neck,  who 
writhed  to  extricate  herself  from  her  embrace. 

“ What  signifies  coming  to  greet  ower  me,”  said 
poor  Effie,  “ when  you  have  killed  me  ? — killed 
me,  when  a word  of  your  mouth  would  have  saved 
me  — killed  me,  when  I am  an  innocent  creature  — 
innocent  of  that  guilt  at  least  — and  me  that  wad 


TI1E  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN.  5 

hae  wared  body  and  soul  to  save  your  finger  from 
1 eing  hurt ! ” 

“ You  shall  not  die/’  said  Jeanie,  with  enthusias- 
tic firmness  ; “ say  what  ye  like  o'  me  — think  what 
ye  like  o'  me  — only  promise  — for  I doubt  your 
proud  heart  — that  ye  wunna  harm  yourself,  and 
you  shall  not  die  this  shameful  death.” 

“ A shameful  death  I will  not  die,  Jeanie,  lass.  I 
have  that  in  my  heart  — though  it  has  been  ower 
kind  a ane  — that  wunna  bide  shame.  Gae  hame  to 
our  father,  and  think  nae  mair  on  me  — I have  eat 
my  last  earthly  meal  ” 

“ 0,  this  was  what  I feared  ! ” said  Jeanie. 

“ Hout,  tout,  hinnie,”  said  Ratcliffe ; “ it’s  but 
little  ye  ken  0’  thae  things.  Ane  aye  thinks  at  the 
first  dinnle  o’  the  sentence,  they  hae  heart  eneugh 
to  die  rather  than  bide  out  the  sax  weeks  ; but  they 
aye  bide  the  sax  weeks  out  for  a’  that.  I ken  the 
gate  o’t  weel ; I hae  fronted  the  doomster  three 
times,  and  here  I stand,  Jim  Ratcliffe,  for  a ’ that. 
Had  I tied  my  napkin  strait  the  first  time,  as  I had 
a great  mind  till’ t — and  it  was  a?  about  a bit  grey 
cowt,  wasna  worth  ten  punds  sterling  — where 
would  I have  been  now  ? ” 

‘‘And  how  did  you  escape?”  said  Jeanie,  the 
fates  of  this  man,  at  first  so  odious  to  her,  having 
acquired  a sudden  interest  in  her  eyes  from  their 
correspondence  with  those  of  her  sister. 

“ How  did  I escape  ? ” said  Ratcliffe,  with  a know- 
ing wink,  — “I  tell  ye  I ’scapit  in  a way  that  nae- 
body  will  escape  from  this  Tolbooth  while  I keep 
the  keys.” 

“ My  sister  shall  come  out  in  the  face  of  the  sun,” 
said  Jeanie;  “I  will  go  to  London,  and  beg  her 
pardon  from  the  king  and  queen.  If  they  pardoned 


6 


TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 


Porteous,  they  may  pardon  her ; if  a sister  asks  a 
sister’s  life  on  her  bended  knees,  they  will  pardon 
her  ■ — they  shall  pardon  her  — and  they  will  win 
a thousand  hearts  by  it.” 

Effie  listened  in  bewildered  astonishment,  and  so 
earnest  was  her  sister's  enthusiastic  assurance,  that 
she  almost  involuntarily  caught  a gleam  of  hope ; 
but  it  instantly  faded  away. 

“Ah,  Jeanie!  the  king  and  queen  live  in  London, 
a thousand  miles  from  this  — far  ayont  the  saut 
sea ; I’ll  be  gane  before  ye  win  there  ! ” 

“ You  are  mistaen,”  said  Jeanie ; “ it  is  no  sae 
far,  and  they  go  to  it  by  land ; I learned  something 
about  thae  things  from  Reuben  Butler.” 

“Ah,  Jeanie!  ye  never  learned  ony  thing  but 
what  was  gude  frae  the  folk  ye  keepit  company  * 
wi’ ; but  I — but  I ” — she  wrung  her  hands,  and 
wept  bitterly. 

“Dinna  think  on  that  now,”  said  Jeanie;  “ there  * 
will  be  time  for  that  if  the  present  space  be  re- 
deemed. Fare  ye  weel!  Unless  I die  by  the  road, 
I will  see  the  king’s  face  that  gies  grace.  — 0,  sir,” 
(to  Ratcliffe,)  “be  kind  to  her  — She  ne’er  kend 
what  it  was  to  need  stranger’s  kindness  till  now.' 

— Fare  weel  — fare  weel,  Effie  ! — - Dinna  speak  to  me 

— I maunna  greet  now  — my  head’s  ower  dizzy: 
already ! ” 

She  tore  herself  from  her  sister’s  arms,  and  left 
the  cell.  Ratcliffe  followed  her,  and  beckoned  her 
into  a small  room.  She  obeyed  his  signal,  but  not 
without  trembling, 

“ What’s  the  fule  thing  shaking  for  ? ” said  he  ; 
u I mean  nothing  but  civility  to  you.  D — n me,  I 
respect  you,  and  I can’t  help  it.  You  have  so  much 
spunk,  that,  d — n me,  but  I think  there’s  some 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN. 


7 


chance  of  your  carrying  the  day.  But  you  must 
not  go  to  the  king  till  you  have  made  some  friend  ; 
try  the  duke  — try  MacCallummore ; he's  Scot- 
land’s friend  — I ken  that  the  great  folks  dinna 
muckle  like  him  — but  they  fear  him,  and  that  will 
serve  your  purpose  as  week  D’ye  ken  naebody 
wad  gie  ye  a letter  to  him  ? ” 

“ Duke  of  Argyle  ? ” said  Jeanie,  recollecting  her- 
self suddenly  — “ what  was  he  to  that  Argyle  that 
suffered  in  my  father’s  time  — in  the  persecution  ? ” 
“His  son  or  grandson,  I’m  thinking,”  said  Bat- 
cliffe ; “ but  what  o’  that  ? ” 

“Thank  God!”  said  Jeanie,  devoutly  clasping 
her  hands. 

“You  whigs  are  aye  thanking  God  for  some- 
thing,” said  the  ruffian.  “ But  hark  ye,  hinny,  I’ll 
tell  ye  a secret.  Ye  may  meet  wi’  rough  customers 
on  the  Border,  or  in  the  Midland,  afore  ye  get  to 
Lunnon.  Now,  deil  ane  o’  them  will  touch  an 
acquaintance  o’  Daddie  Batton’s  ; for  though  I am 
retired  frae  public  practice,  yet  they  ken  I can  do 
a gude  or  an  ill  turn  yet  — and  deil  a gude  fellow 
that  has  been  but  a twelvemonth  on  the  lay,  be  he 
ruffler  or  padder,  but  he  knows  my  gybe 1 as  well 
as  the  jark2  of  e’er  a queer  cuffin  3 in  England  — 
and  there’s  rogue’s  Latin  for  you.” 

It  was,  indeed,  totally  unintelligible  to  Jeanie 
Deans,  who  was  only  impatient  to  escape  from  him. 
He  hastily  scrawled  a line  or  two  on  a dirty  piece 
of  paper,  and  said  to  her,  as  she  drew  back  when 
he  offered  it,  “ Hey  ! what  the  deil  — it  wunna  bite 
you,  my  lass  — if  it  does  nae  gude,  it  can  do  nae  ill. 
But  I wish  you  to  show  it,  if  you  have  ony  fasherie 
wi’  ony  o’  St.  Nicholas’s  clerks.” 

1 Pass.  2 Seal.  3 Justice  of  Peace. 


8 


TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 


“ Alas ! ” said  she,  “ I do  not  understand  what 
you  mean  ? ” 

“I  mean,  if  ye  fall  among  thieves,  my  precious, 
— that  is  a Scripture  phrase,  if  ye  will  hae  ane  ~ 
the  bauldest  of  them  will  ken  a scart  o’  my  guse 
feather.  And  now  awa  wi’  ye  — and  stick  to  Ar- 
gyle ; if  ony  body  can  do  the  job,  it  maun  be  him” 

After  casting  an  anxious  look  at  the  grated  win- 
dows and  blackened  walls  of  the  old  Tolbooth,  and 
another  scarce  less  anxious  at  the  hospitable  lodg- 
ing of  Mrs.  Saddletree,  Jeanie  turned  her  back  on 
that  quarter,  and  soon  after  on  the  city  itself.  She 
reached  Saint  Leonard’s  Crags  without  meeting  any 
one  whom  she  knew,  which,  in  the  state  of  her 
mind,  she  considered  as  a great  blessing.  I must 
do  naething,  she  thought,  as  she  went  along,  that 
can  soften  or  weaken  my  heart — it’s  ower  weak 
already  for  what  I hae  to  do.  I will  think  and  act 
as  firmly  as  I can,  and  speak  as  little. 

There  was  an  ancient  servant,  or  rather  cottar,  of 
her  father’s,  who  had  lived  under  him  for  many 
years,  and  whose  fidelity  was  worthy  of  full  confi- 
dence. She  sent  for  this  woman,  and  explaining  to 
her  that  the  circumstances  of  her  family  required 
that  she  should  undertake  a journey,  which  would 
detain  her  for  some  weeks  from  home,  she  gave  her  , 
full  instructions  concerning  the  management  of  the 
domestic  affairs  in  her  absence.  With  a precision, 
which,  upon  reflection,  she  herself  could  not  help 
wondering  at,  she  described  and  detailed  the  most 
minute  steps  which  were  to  be  taken,  and  especially 
such  as  were  necessary  for  her  father’s  comfort. 

“ It  was  probable,”  she  said,  “ that  he  would  return 
to  St.  Leonard’s  to-morrow  ; certain  that  he  would 
return  very  soon  — all  must  be  in  order  for  him. 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN. 


9 


He  had  'eneugh  to  distress  him,  without  being 
fashed  about  warldly  matters.” 

In  the  meanwhile  she  toiled  busily,  along  with 
May  Hettly,  to  leave  nothing  unarranged. 

It  was  deep  in  the  night  when  all  these  matters 
were  settled ; and  when  they  had  partaken  of  some 
food,  the  first  which  Jeanie  had  tasted  on  that 
eventful  day,  May  Hettly,  whose  usual  residence 
was  a cottage  at  a little  distance  from  Deans’s 
house,  asked  her  young  mistress,  whether  she  would 
not  permit  her  to  remain  in  the  house  all  night? 
“ Ye  hae  had  an  awfu’  day,”  she  said,  “ and  sorrow 
and  fear  are  but  bad  companions  in  the  watches  of 
the  night,  as  I hae  heard  the  gudeman  say  himsell.” 
“They  are  ill  companions  indeed,”  said  Jeanie; 
“ but  I maun  learn  to  abide  their  presence,  and 
better  begin  in  the  house  than  in  the  field.” 

She  dismissed  her  aged  assistant  accordingly,  — 
for  so  slight  was  the  gradation  in  their  rank  of  life, 
that  we  can  hardly  term  May  a servant,  — and  pro- 
ceeded to  make  a few  preparations  for  her  journey. 

The  simplicity  of  her  education  and  country 
made  these  preparations  very  brief  and  easy.  Her 
tartan  screen  served  all  the  purposes  of  a riding- 
habit,  and  of  an  umbrella ; a small  bundle  con- 
tained such  changes  of  linen  as  were  absolutely 
necessary.  Barefooted,  as  Sancho  says,  she  had 
come  into  the  world,  and  barefooted  she  proposed  to 
perform  her  pilgrimage  ; and  her  clean  shoes  and 
change  of  snow-white  thread  stockings  were  to  be 
reserved  for  special  occasions  of  ceremony.  She 
was  not  aware,  that  the  English  habits  of  comfort 
attach  an  idea  of  abject  misery  to  the  idea  of  a 
barefooted  traveller ; and  if  the  objection  of  clean- 
liness had  been  made  to  the  practice,  she  would 


10 


TALES  0E  MY  LANDLORD. 


have  been  apt  to  vindicate  herself  upon  the  very 
frequent  ablutions  to  which,  with  Mahometan 
scrupulosity,  a Scottish  damsel  of  some  condition 
usually  subjects  herself.  Thus  far,  therefore,  all 
was  well. 

From  an  oaken  press  or  cabinet,  in  which  her 
father  kept  a few  old  books,  and  two  or  three 
bundles  of  papers,  besides  his  ordinary  accounts  and 
receipts,  she  sought  out  and  extracted  from  a parcel 
of  notes  of  sermons,  calculations  of  interest,  records 
of  dying  speeches  of  the  martyrs,  and  the  like,  one 
or  two  documents  which  she  thought  might  be  of 
some  use  to  her  upon  her  mission.  But  the  most 
important  difficulty  remained  behind,  and  it  had 
not  occurred  to  her  until  that  very  evening.  It 
was  the  want  of  money,  without  which  it  was  im- 
possible she  could  undertake  so  distant  a journey 
as  she  now  meditated. 

David  Deans,  as  we  have  said,  was  easy,  and  ' 
even  opulent  in  his  circumstances.  But  his  wealth, 
like  that  of  the  patriarchs  of  old,  consisted  in  his 
kine  and  herds,  and  in  two  or  three  sums  lent  out 
at  interest  to  neighbours  or  relatives,  who,  far  from 
being  in  circumstances  to  pay  anything  to  account 
of  the  principal  sums,  thought  they  did  all  that  j 
was  incumbent  on  them  when,  with  considerable  , 
difficulty,  they  discharged  “ the  annual  rent.”  To 
these  debtors  it  would  be  in  vain,  therefore,  to 
apply,  even  with  her  father's  concurrence  ; nor  could 
she  hope  to  obtain  such  concurrence,  or  assistance 
in  any  mode,  without  such  a series  of  explanations 
and  debates  as  she  felt  might  deprive  her  totally 
of  the  power  of  taking  the  step,  which,  however 
daring  and  hazardous,  she  knew  was  absolutely 
necessary  for  trying  the  last  chance  in  favour  of 


THE  HEART  OE  MID-LOTIIIAN. 


ii 


her  sister.  Without  departing  from  filial  reverence, 
Jeanie  had  an  inward  conviction  that  the  feelings 
of  her  father,  however  just,  and  upright,  and  honour- 
able, were  too  little  in  unison  with  the  spirit  of  the 
time  to  admit  of  his  being  a good  judge  of  the 
measures  to  be  adopted  in  this  crisis.  Herself  more 
flexible  in  manner,  though  no  less  upright  in  prin- 
ciple, she  felt  that  to  ask  his  consent  to  her  pil- 
grimage would  be  to  encounter  the  risk  of  drawing 
down  his  positive  prohibition,  and  under  that  she 
believed  her  journey  could  not  be  blessed  in  its 
progress  and  event.  Accordingly,  she  had  deter- 
mined upon  the  means  by  which  she  might  com- 
municate to  him  her  undertaking  and  its  purpose, 
shortly  after  her  actual  departure.  But  it  was  im- 
possible to  apply  to  him  for  money  without  altering 
this  arrangement,  and  discussing  fully  the  propri- 
ety of  her  journey  ; pecuniary  assistance  from  that 
quarter,  therefore,  was  laid  out  of  the  question. 

It  now  occurred  to  Jeanie  that  she  should  have 
consulted  with  Mrs.  Saddletree  on  this  subject. 
But,  besides  the  time  that  must  now  necessarily  be 
lost  in  recurring  to  her  assistance,  Jeanie  internally 
revolted  from  it.  Her  heart  acknowledged  the 
goodness  of  Mrs.  Saddletree’s  general  character,  and 
the  kind  interest  she  took  in  their  family  misfor- 
tunes ; but  still  she  felt  that  Mrs.  Saddletree  was 
a woman  of  an  ordinary  and  worldly  way  of  think- 
ing, incapable,  from  habit  and  temperament,  of 
taking  a keen  or  enthusiastic  view  of  such  a resolu- 
tion as  she  had  formed  ; and  to  debate  the  point 
with  her,  and  to  rely  upon  her  conviction  of  its 
propriety  for  the  means  of  carrying  it  intc  execu- 
tion, would  have  been  gall  and  wormwood. 

Butler,  whose  assistance  she  might  have  been 


12 


TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 


assured  of,  was  greatly  poorer  than  herself.  In 
these  circumstances,  she  formed  a singular  resolu- 
tion for  the  purpose  of  surmounting  this  difficulty, 
the  execution  of  which  will  form  the  subject  of  the 
next  chapter. 


CHAPTER  II. 


> 


?Tis  the  voice  of  the  sluggard,  I’ve  heard  him  complain, 

“ You  have  waked  me  too  soon,  I must  slumber  again;” 

As  the  door  on  its  hinges,  so  he  on  his  bed. 

Turns  his  side,  and  his  shoulders,  and  his  heavy  head. 

Dr.  Watts. 

The  mansion-house  of  Dumbiedikes,  to  which  we 
are  now  to  introduce  our  readers,  lay  three  or  four 
miles  — no  matter  for  the  exact  topography  — to 
the  southward  of  St.  Leonard’s.  It  had  once  borne 
the  appearance  of  some  little  celebrity ; for  the 
“ auld  laird,”  whose  humours  and  pranks  were  often 
mentioned  in  the  alehouses  for  about  a mile  round 
it,  wore  a sword,  kept  a good  horse,  and  a brace  of 
greyhounds ; brawled,  swore,  and  betted  . at  cock- 
fights and  horse-matches ; followed  Somerville  of 
Drum’s  hawks,  and  the  Lord  Ross’s  hounds,  and 
called  himself  point  devise  a gentleman.  But  the 
line  had  been  vailed  of  its  splendour  in  the  present 
proprietor,  who  cared  for  no  rustic  amusements, 
and  was  as  saving,  timid,  and  retired,  as  his  father 
had  been  at  once  grasping  and  selfishly  extravagant, 
— daring,  wild,  and  intrusive. 

Dumbiedikes  was  what  is  called  in  Scotland  a 
single  house  ; that  is,  having  only  one  room  occu- 
pying its  whole  depth  from  back  to  front,  each  of 
which  single  apartments  was  illuminated  by  six  or 
eight  cross  lights,  whose  diminutive  panes  and 


H 


TALES  OE  MY  LANDLORD. 


heavy  frames  permitted  scarce  so  much  light  to 
enter  as  shines  through  one  well -constructed  modern 
window.  This  inartificial  edifice,  exactly  such  as 
a child  would  build  with  cards,  had  a steep  roof 
flagged  with  coarse  grey  stones  instead  of  slates ; 
a half-circular  turret,  battlemented,  or,  to  use  the 
appropriate  phrase,  bartizan’d  on  the  top,  served  as 
a case  for  a narrow  turnpike-stair,  by  which  an 
ascent  was  gained  from  story  to  story  ; and  at  the 
bottom  of  the  said  turret  was  a door  studded  with 
large-headed  nails.  There  was  no  lobby  at  the 
bottom  of  the  tower,  and  scarce  a landing-place 
opposite  to  the  doors  which  gave  access  to  the 
apartments.  One  or  two  low  and  dilapidated  out- 
houses, connected  by  a court-yard  wall  equally 
ruinous,  surrounded  the  mansion.  The  court  had 
been  paved,  but  the  flags  being  partly  displaced, 
and  partly  renewed,  a gallant  crop  of  docks  and 
thistles  sprung  up  between  them,  and  the  small 
garden,  which  opened  by  a postern  through  the 
wall,  seemed  not  to  be  in  a much  more  orderly  con- 
dition. Over  the  low-arched  gateway  which  led 
into  the  yard,  there  was  a carved  stone,  exhibiting 
some  attempt  at  armorial  bearings ; and  above  the 
inner  entrance  hung,  and  had  hung  for  many  years, 
the  mouldering  hatchment,  which  announced  that 
umquhile  Laurence  Dumbie,  of  Dumbiedikes,  had 
been  gathered  to  his  fathers  in  Newbattle  kirk- 
yard.  The  approach  to  this  palace  of  pleasure  was 
by  a road  formed  by  the  rude  fragments  of  stone 
gathered  from  the  fields,  and  it  was  surrounded  by 
ploughed  but  unenclosed  land.  Upon  a baulk,  that 
is,  an  unploughed  ridge  of  land  interposed  among 
the  corn,  the  Laird’s  trusty  palfrey  was  tethered 
by  the  head,  and  picking  a meal  of  grass.  The 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN.  15 

whole  argued  neglect  and  discomfort ; the  conse- 
quence, however,  of  idleness  and  indifference,  not 
of  poverty. 

In  this  inner  court,  not  without  a sense  of  bash- 
fulness and  timidity,  stood  Jeanie  Deans,  at  an 
early  hour  in  a fine  spring  morning.  She  was  no 
heroine  of  romance,  and  therefore  looked  with  some 
curiosity  and  interest  on  the  mansion-house  and 
domains,  of  which,  it  might  at  that  moment  occur 
to  her,  a little  encouragement,  such  as  women  of 
all  ranks  know  by  instinct  how  to  apply,  might 
have  made  her  mistress.  Moreover,  she  was  no 
person  of  taste  beyond  her  time,  rank,  and  country, 
and  certainly  thought  the  house  of  Dumbiedikes, 
though  inferior  to  Holyroodhouse,  or  the  palace  at 
Dalkeith,  was  still  a stately  structure  in  its  way, 
and  the  land  a “ very  bonnie  bit,  if  it  were  better 
seen  to  and  done  to.”  But  Jeanie  Deans  was  a 
plain,  true-hearted,  honest  girl,  who,  while  she  ac- 
knowledged all  the  splendour  of  her  old  admirer’s 
habitation,  and  the  value  of  his  property,  never  for 
a moment  harboured  a thought  of  doing  the  Laird, 
Butler,  or  herself,  the  injustice,  which  many  ladies 
of  higher  rank  would  not  have  hesitated  to  do  to 
all  three,  on  much  less  temptation. 

Her  present  errand  being  with  the  Laird,  she 
looked  round  the  offices  to  see  if  she  could  find  any 
domestic  to  announce  that  she  wished  to  see  him. 
As  all  was  silence,  she  ventured  to  open  one  door ; 

— it  was  the  old  Laird’s  dog-kennel,  now  deserted, 
unless  when  occupied,  as  one  or  two  tubs  seemed 
to  testify,  as  a washing-house.  She  tried  another 

— it  was  the  roofless  shed  where  the  hawks  had 
been  once  kept,  as  appeared  from  a perch  or  two 
not  yet  completely  rotten,  and  a lure  and  jesses 


1 6 TALES  OE  MY  LANDLORD. 

which  were  mouldering  on  the  wall.  A third  door 
led  to  the  coal-house,  which  was  well  stocked.  To 
keep  a very  good  fire,  was  one  of  the  few  points  of 
domestic  management  in  which  Dumbiedikes  was 
positively  active ; in  all  other  matters  of  domestic 
economy  he  was  completely  passive,  and  at  the 
mercy  of  his  housekeeper,  the  same  buxom  dame 
whom  his  father  had  long  since  bequeathed  to  his 
charge,  and  who,  if  fame  did  her  no  injustice,  had 
feathered  her  nest  pretty  well  at  his  expense. 

Jeanie  went  on  opening  doors,  like  the  second 
Calender  wanting  an  eye,  in  the  castle  of  the  hun- 
dred obliging  damsels,  until,  like  the  said  prince 
errant,  she  came  to  a stable.  The  Highland  Pega- 
sus, Eory  Bean,  to  which  belonged  the  single  entire 
stall,  was  her  old  acquaintance,  whom  she  had  seen 
grazing  on  the  baulk,  as  she  failed  not  to  recognise 
by  the  well-known  ancient  riding  furniture  and 
demi-pique  saddle,  which  half  hung  on  the  walls, 
half  trailed  on  the  litter.  Beyond  the  “treviss,” 
which  formed  one  side  of  the  stall,  stood  a cow, 
who  turned  her  head  and  lowed  when  Jeanie  came 
into  the  stable,  an  appeal  which  her  habitual  occu- 
pations enabled  her  perfectly  to  understand,  and 
with  which  she  could  not  refuse  complying,  by 
shaking  down  some  fodder  to  the  animal,  which 
had  been  neglected  like  most  things  else  in  this 
castle  of  the  sluggard. 

While  she  was  accommodating  “the  milky  mo- 
ther ” with  the  food  which  she  should  have  received 
two  hours  sooner,  a slip-shod  wench  peeped  into 
the  stable,  and  perceiving  that  a stranger  was  em- 
ployed in  discharging  the  task  which  she,  at  length, 
and  reluctantly,  had  quitted  her  slumbers  to  per- 
form, ejaculated,  “ Eh,  sirs  ! the  Brownie  ! the 


THE  HEART  OE  MID-LOTHIAN.  17 

Brownie !”  and  fled,  yelling  as  if  slie  had  seen  the 
devil. 

To  explain  her  terror,  it  may  be  necessary  to 
notice,  that  the  old  house  of  Dumbiedikes  had,  ac- 
cording to  report,  been  long  haunted  by  a Brownie, 
one  of  those  familiar  spirits,  who  were  believed  in 
ancient  times  to  supply  the  deficiencies  of  the  ordi- 
nary labourer  — 

“ Whirl  the  long  mop,  and  ply  the  airy  flail.” 

Certes,  the  convenience  of  such  a supernatural  as- 
sistant could  have  been  nowhere  more  sensibly  felt, 
than  in  a family  where  the  domestics  were  so  lit- 
tle disposed  to  personal  activity ; yet  this  serving 
maiden  was  so  far  from  rejoicing  in  seeing  a sup- 
posed aerial  substitute  discharging  a task  which 
she  should  have  long  since  performed  herself,  that 
she  proceeded  to  raise  the  family  by  her  screams  of 
horror,  uttered  as  thick  as  if  the  Brownie  had  been 
flaying  her.  Jeanie,  who  had  immediately  resigned 
her  temporary  occupation,  and  followed  the  yelling 
damsel  into  the  court-yard,  in  order  to  undeceive 
and  appease  her,  was  there  met  by  Mrs.- Janet  Bal- 
christie,  the  favourite  sultana  of  the  last  Laird,  as 
scandal  went  — the  housekeeper  of  the  present. 
The  good-looking  buxom  woman,  betwixt  forty  and 
fifty,  (for  such  we  described  her  at  the  death  of  the 
last  Laird,)  was  now  a fat,  red-faced,  old  dame  of 
seventy,  or  thereabouts,  fond  of  her  place,  and 
jealous  of  her  authority.  Conscious  that  her  ad- 
ministration did  not  rest  on  so  sure  a basis  as  in 
the  time  of  the  old  proprietor,  this  considerate  lady 
had  introduced  into  the  family  the  screamer  afore- 
said, who  added  good  features  and  bright  eyes  tc 


i8 


TALES  OE  MY  LANDLORD. 


the  powers  of  her  lungs.  She  made  no  conquest 
of  the  Laird,  however,  who  seemed  to  live  as  if 
there  was  not  another  woman  in  the  world  but 
Jeanie  Deans,  and  to  bear  no  very  ardent  or  over- 
bearing affection  even  to  her.  Mrs.  Janet  Balchristie, 
notwithstanding,  had  her  own  uneasy  thoughts 
upon  the  almost  daily  visits  to  Saint  Leonard’s 
Crags,  and  often,  when  the  Laird  looked  at  her 
wistfully  and  paused,  according  to  his  custom  be- 
fore utterance,  she  expected  him  to  say,  “Jenny,  1 
am  gaun  to  change  my  condition ; ” but  she  was  re- 
lieved by  “ Jenny,  I am  gaun  to  change  my  shoon.” 

Still,  however,  Mrs.  Balchristie  regarded  Jeanie 
Deans  with  no  small  portion  of  malevolence,  the 
customary  feeling  of  such  persons  towards  any  one 
who  they  think  has  the  means  of  doing  them  an 
injury.  But  she  had  also  a general  aversion  to  any 
female,  tolerably  young,  and  decently  well-looking, 
who  showed  a wish  to  approach  the  house  of  Dum- 
biedikes  and  the  proprietor  thereof.  And  as  she 
had  raised  her  mass  of  mortality  out  of  bed  two 
hours  earlier  than  usual,  to  come  to  the  rescue  of 
her  clamorous  niece,  she  was  in  such  extreme  bad 
humour  against  all  and  sundry,  that  Saddletree 
would  have  pronounced,  that  she  harboured  inimi - 
citiam  contra  omnes  mortales. 

“Whathe  deil  are  ye?”  said  the  fat  dame  to 
poor  Jeanie,  whom  she  did  not  immediately  recog- 
nise, “ scouping  about  a decent  house  at  sic  an  hour 
in  the  morning  ? ” 

“It  was  ane  wanting  to  speak  to  the  Laird,” 
said  Jeanie,  who  felt  something  of  the  intuitive  ter- 
ror which  she  had  formerly  entertained  for  this 
termagant,  when  she  was  occasionally  at  Dumbie- 
dikes  on  business  of  her  father’s. 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTIIIAN. 


19 


“ Ane  ? — And  what  sort  of  ane  are  ye  ? — hae  ye 
nae  name  ? — D’ye  think  his  honour  has  naething 
else  to  do  than  to  speak  wi’  ilka  idle  tramper  that 
comes  about  the  town,  and  him  in  his  bed  yet, 
honest  man  ? ” 

“ Dear,  Mrs.  Balchristie,,,  replied  Jeanie,  in  a sub- 
missive tone,  “ d’ye  no  mind  me  ? — dye  no  mind 
Jeanie  Deans  ? ” 

“ Jeanie  Deans  ! ! ” said  the  termagant,  in  accents 
affecting  the  utmost  astonishment ; then,  taking 
two  strides  nearer  to  her,  she  peered  into  her  face 
with  a stare  of  curiosity,  equally  scornful  and  ma- 
lignant — “ I say  Jeanie  Deans,  indeed  — Jeanie 
Deevil,  they  had  better  hae  ca’d  ye  ! — A bonny 
spot  0’  wark  your  tittie  and  you  hae  made  out, 
murdering  ae  puir  wean,  and  your  light  limmer  of 
a sister’s  to  be  hanged  for’t,  as  weel  she  deserves ! 
— And  the  like  0’  you  to  come  to  ony  honest  man’s 
house,  and  want  to  be  into  a decent  bachelor  gentle- 
man’s room  at  this  time  in  the  morning,  and  him 
in  his  bed  ? — Gae  wa’,  gae  wa’ ! ” 

Jeanie  was  struck  mute  with  shame  at  the  un- 
feeling brutality  of  this  accusation,  and  could  not 
even  find  words  to  justify  herself  from  the  vile 
construction  put  upon  her  visit,  when  Mrs.  Bal- 
christie,  seeing  her  advantage,  continued  in  the 
same  tone,  “ Come,  come,  bundle  up  your  pipes 
and  tramp  awa  wi’  ye!  — ye  may  be  seeking  a 
father  to  another  wean  for  ony  thing  I ken.  If  it 
warna  that  your  father,  auld  David  Deans,  had  been 
a tenant  on  our  land,  I would  cry  up  the  men-folk, 
and  hae  ye  dookit  in  the  burn  for  your  impudence.” 

Jeanie  had  already  turned  her  back,  and  was 
walking  towards  the  door  of  the  court-yard,  so  that 
Mrs.  Balchristie,  to  make  her  last  threat  impressively 


20 


TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 


audible  to  her,  had  raised  her  stentorian  voice  to  its 
utmost  pitch.  But,  like  many  a general,  she  lost 
the  engagement  by  pressing  her  advantage  too  far. 

The  Laird  had  been  disturbed  in  his  morning 
slumbers  by  the  tones  of  Mrs.  Balchristie’s  objur- 
gation, sounds  in  themselves  by  no  means  uncom- 
mon, but  very  remarkable  in  respect  to  the  early 
hour  at  which  they  were  now  heard.  He  turned 
himself  on  the  other  side,  however,  in  hopes  the 
squall  would  blow  by,  when,  in  the  course  of  Mrs. 
Balchristie’s  second  explosion  of  wrath,  the  name 
of  Deans  distinctly  struck  the  tympanum  of  his 
ear.  As  he  was,  in  some  degree,  aware  of  the 
small  portion  of  benevolence  with  which  his  house- 
keeper regarded  the  family  at  Saint  Leonard’s,  he 
instantly  conceived  that  some  message  from  thence 
was  the  cause  of  this  untimely  ire,  and  getting  out 
of  his  bed,  he  slipt  as  speedily  as  possible  into  an 
old  brocaded  night-gown,  and  some  other  necessary 
integuments,  clapped  on  his  head  his  father’s  gold- 
laced  hat,  (for  though  he  was  seldom  seen  without 
it,  yet  it  is  proper  to  contradict  the  popular  report, 
that  he  slept  in  it,  as  Don  Quixote  did  in  his  hel- 
met,) and  opening  the  window  of  his  bedroom,  be- 
held, to  his  great  astonishment,  the  well-known 
figure  of  Jeanie  Deans  herself  retreating  from  his 
gate;  while  his  housekeeper,  with  arms  a-kimbo, 
fists  clenched  and  extended,  body  erect,  and  head 
shaking  with  rage,  sent  after  her  a volley  of  Bil- 
lingsgate oaths.  His  choler  rose  in  proportion  to 
the  surprise,  and,  perhaps,  to  the  disturbance  of  his 
repose.  “Hark  ye,”  he  exclaimed  from  the  win- 
dow, “ye  auld  limb  of  Satan  — wha  the  deil  gies 
you  commission  to  guide  an  honest  man’s  daughter 
that  gate  ? ” 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN. 


21 


Mrs.  Balchristie  was  completely  caught  in  the 
manner.  She  was  aware,  from  the  unusual  warmth 
with  which  the  Laird  expressed  himself,  that  he 
was  quite  serious  in  this  matter,  and  she  knew 
that,  with  all  his  indolence  of  nature,  there  were 
points  on  which  he  might  be  provoked,  and  that, 
being  provoked,  he  had  in  him  something  danger- 
ous, which  her  wisdom  taught  her  to  fear  accord- 
ingly. She  began,  therefore,  to  retract  her  false 
step  as  fast  as  she  could.  “ She  was  but  speaking 
for  the  house’s  credit,  and  she  couldna  think 
of  disturbing  his  honour  in  the  morning  sae  early, 
when  the  young  woman  might  as  weel  wait  or  call 
again;  and  to  be  sure,  she  might  make  a mistake 
between  the  twa  sisters,  for  ane  o’  them  wasna  sae 
creditable  an  acquaintance.” 

“Haud  your  peace,  ye  auld  jade,”  said  Dumbie- 
dikes ; “ the  warst  quean  e’er  stude  in  their  shoon 
may  ca’  you  cousin,  an  a’  be  true  that  I have 
heard,  — Jeanie,  my  woman,  gang  into  the  parlour 
— but  stay,  that  winna  be  redd  up  yet  — wait  there 
a minute  till  I come  doun  to  let  ye  in  — Dinna  mind 
what  Jenny  says  to  ye.” 

“Na,  na,”  said  Jenny,  with  a laugh  of  affected 
heartiness,  “ never  mind  me,  lass  — a’  the  warld 
kens  my  bark’s  waur  than  my  bite  — if  ye  had 
had  an  appointment  wi’  the  Laird,  ye  might  hae 
tauld  me  — I am  nae  uncivil  person  — gang  your 
ways  in  by,  hinny.”  And  she  opened  the  door  of 
the  house  with  a master-key. 

“ But  I had  no  appointment  wi’  the  Laird,”  said 
Jeanie,  drawing  back ; “ I want  just  to  speak  twa 
words  to  him,  and  I wad  rather  do  it  standing  here, 
Mrs.  Balchristie.” 

“In  the  open  court-yard? — Na,  na,  that  wad 


22 


TALES  OE  MY  LANDLORD. 


never  do,  lass ; we  maunna  guide  ye  that  gate 
neither  — And  how’s  that  douce  honest  man,  your 
father  ? ” 

Jeanie  was  saved  the . pain  of  answering  this 
hypocritical  question  by  the  appearance  of  the 
Laird  himself. 

“Gang  in  and  get  breakfast  ready,”  said  he  to 
his  housekeeper  — “ and,  d’ye  hear,  breakfast  wi’  us 
yoursell  — ye  ken  how  to  manage  thae  porringers 
of  tea-water  — and,  hear  ye,  see  abune  a’  that 
there’s  a gude  fire.  — Weel,  Jeanie,  my  woman, 
gang  in  by  — gang  in  by,  and  rest  ye.” 

“Na,  Laird,”  Jeanie  replied,  endeavouring  as 
much  as  she  could  to  express  herself  with  compo- 
sure, notwithstanding  she  still  trembled,  “I  canna 
gang  in  — I have  a lang  day’s  darg  afore  me  — I 
maun  be  twenty  mile  o’  gate  the  night  yet,  if  feet  < 
will  carry  me.” 

“ Guide  and  deliver  us  ! — twenty  mile  — twenty  , 
mile  on  your  feet ! ” ejaculated  Dumbiedikes,  whose  >. 
walks  were  of  a very  circumscribed  diameter,  — “ Ye 
maun  never  think  o’  that  — come  in  by.” 

“I  canna  do  that,  Laird,”  replied  Jeanie;  “the 
twa  words  I hae  to  say  to  ye  I can  say  here ; forby  . 

that  Mrs.  Balchristie  ” 

“ The  deil  flee  awa  wi’  Mrs.  Balchristie,”  said  \ 
Dumbiedikes,  “ and  he’ll  hae  a heavy  lading  o’  ; 
her!  I tell  ye,  Jeanie  Deans,  I am  a man  of  few 
words,  but  I am  laird  at  hame,  as  weel  as  in  the 
field;  deil  a brute  or  body  about  my  house  but  I 
can  manage  when  I like,  except  Rory  Bean,  my 
powny ; but  I can  seldom  be  at  the  plague,  an  it 
binna  when  my  bluid’s  up.” 

“ I was  wanting  to  say  to  ye,  Laird,”  said  Jeanie, 
who  felt  the  necessity  of  entering  upon  her  busn 


THE  HEART  OE  MID-LOTHIAN. 


23 

ness,  “ that  I was  gaun  a lang  journey,  outby  of  my 
father's  knowledge." 

“ Outby  his  knowledge,  Jeanie  ! — Is  that  right? 
Ye  maun  think  o’t  again  — it’s  no  right,"  said  Dum- 
biedikes,  with  a countenance  of  great  concern. 

“ If  I were  anes  at  Lunnon,”  said  Jeanie,  in  ex- 
culpation, “ I am  amaist  sure  I could  get  means  to 
speak  to  the  queen  about  my  sister’s  life." 

“ Lunnon  — and  the  queen  — and  her  sister’s 
life  ! " said  Dumbiedikes,  whistling  for  very  amaze- 
ment — “ the  lassie’s  demented." 

“ I am  no  out  o’  my  mind,"  said  she,  “ and,  sink 
or  swim,  I am  determined  to  gang  to  Lunnon,  if  I 
suld  beg  my  way  frae  door  to  door  — and  so  I maun, 
unless  ye  wad  lend  me  a small  sum  to  pay  my 
expenses  — little  thing  will  do  it ; and  ye  ken  my 
father’s  a man  of  substance,  and  wad  see  nae  man, 
far  less  you,  Laird,  come  to  loss  by  me.” 

Dumbiedikes,  on  comprehending  the  nature  of 
this  application,  could  scarce  trust  his  ears  — he 
made  no  answer  whatever,  but  stood  with  his  eyes 
riveted  on  the  ground. 

“I  see  ye  .are  no  for  assisting  me,  Laird,"  said 
Jeanie;  “sae  fare  ye  weel  — and  gang  and  see  my 
poor  father  as  aften  as  ye  can  — he  will  be  lonely 
eneugh  now." 

“ Where  is  the  silly  bairn  gaun  ? ” said  Dumbie- 
dikes ; and,  laying  hold  of  her  hand,  he  led  her  into 
the  house.  “ It’s  no  that  I didna  think  o’t  before," 
he  said,  “ but  it  stack  in  my  throat.” 

Thus  speaking  to  himself,  he  led  her  into  an  old- 
fashioned  parlour,  shut  the  door  behind  them,  and 
fastened  it  with  a bolt.  While  Jeanie,  surprised 
at  this  manoeuvre,  remained  as  near  the  door  as  pos- 
sible, the  Laird  quitted  her  hand,  and  pressed  upon 


24  TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 

a spring  lock  fixed  in  an  oak  panel  in  the  wainscot, 
which  instantly  slipped  aside.  An  iron  strong-box 
was  discovered  in  a recess  of  the  wall ; he  opened 
this  also,  and,  pulling  out  two  or  three  drawers, 
showed  that  they  were  filled  with  leathern-bags, 
full  of  gold  and  silver  coin. 

“ This  is  my  bank,  Jeanie  lass,”  he  said,  looking 
first  at  her,  and  then  at  the  treasure,  with  an  air  of 
great  complacency,  — “ nane  o’  your  goldsmith’s 
bills  for  me,  — they  bring  folk  to  ruin.” 

Then  suddenly  changing  his  tone,  he  resolutely 
said  — “ Jeanie,  I will  make  ye  Leddy  Dumbiedikes 
afore  the  sun  sets,  and  ye  may  ride  to  Lunnon  in 
your  ain  coach,  if  ye  like.” 

“ Na,  Laird,”  said  Jeanie,  “ that  can  never  be  — 
my  father’s  grief  — my  sister’s  situation  — the  dis- 
credit to  you  ” 

“ That’s  my  business,”  said  Dumbiedikes ; “ ye 
wad  say  naething  about  that  if  ye  werena  a fule  — 
and  yet  I like  ye  the  better  for’t  — ae  wise  body’s 
eneugh  in  the  married  state.  But  if  your  heart’s 
ower  fu’,  take  what  siller  will  serve  ye,  and  let  it  be 
when  ye  come  back  again  — as  gude  syne  as  sune.” 

“ But,  Laird,”  said  Jeanie,  who  felt  the  necessity  ; 
of  being  explicit  with  so  extraordinary  a lover,  “ I 
like  another  man  better  than  you,  and  I canna 
marry  ye.” 

“ Another  man  better  than  me,  Jeanie?”  said 
Dumbiedikes  — “ how  is  that  possible  ? — It’s  no 
possible,  woman  — ye  hae  kend  me  sae  lang.” 

“Ay  but,  Laird,”  said  Jeanie,  with  persevering 
simplicity,  “ I hae  kend  him  langer.” 

“ Langer  ? — It’s  no  possible  ! ” exclaimed  the 
poor  Laird.  “ It  canna  be ; ye  were  born  on  the 
land.  O Jeanie  woman,  ye  haena  lookit  — ye  haena 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN.  2«, 

seen  the  half  o’  the  gear.”  He  drew  out  another 
drawer  — “A’  gowd,  Jeanie,  and  there's  bands  for 
siller  lent  — And  the  rental  book,  Jeanie  — clear 
three  hunder  sterling  — deil  a wadset,  heritable 
band,  or  burden  — Ye  haena  lookit  at  them,  woman 

— And  then  my  mother’s  wardrobe,  and  my  grand- 
mother’s forby  — silk  gowns  wad  stand  on  their 
ends,  pearlin-lace  as  fine  as  spiders’  webs,  and  rings 
and  ear-rings  to  the  boot  of  a’  that  — they  are  a’  in 
the  chamber  of  deas  — 0,  Jeanie,  gang  up  the  stair 
and  look  at  them  ! ” 

But  Jeanie  held  fast  her  integrity,  though  beset 
with  temptations,  which  perhaps  the  Laird  of  Dum- 
biedikes  did  not  greatly  err  in  supposing  were  those 
most  affecting  to  her  sex. 

“ It  canna  be,  Laird  — I have  said  it  — and  I 
canna  break  my  word  till  him,  if  ye  wad  gie  me  the 
haill  barony  of  Dalkeith,  and  Lugton  into  the 
bargain.” 

“ Your  word  to  him”  said  the  Laird,  somewhat 
pettishly ; “ but  wha  is  he,  Jeanie  ? — wha  is  he  ? — 
I haena  heard  his  name  yet  — Come  now,  Jeanie,  ye 
are  but  queering  us  — -I  am  no  trowing  that  there  is 
sic  a ane  in  the  warld  — ye  are  but  making  fashion 

— What  is  he  ? — wha  is  he  ? ” 

“Just  Reuben  Butler,  that’s  schulemaster  at  Lib- 
berton,”  said  Jeanie. 

“ Reuben  Butler  ! Reuben  Butler  ! ” echoed  the 
Laird  of  Dumbiedikes,  pacing  the  apartment  in  high 
disdain,  — “ Reuben  Butler,  the  dominie  at  Libber- 
ton  — and  a dominie  depute  too  ! — Reuben,  the  son 
of  my  cottar!  — Very  weel,  Jeanie  lass,  wilfu’ 
woman  will  hae  her  way  — Reuben  Butler ! he 
hasna  in  his  pouch  the  value  o’  the  auld  black  coat 
he  wears  — but  it  disna  signify.”  And,  as  he  spoke, 


26 


TALES  OE  MY  LANDLORD. 


he  shut  successively,  and  with  vehemence,  the 
drawers  of  his  treasury.  “ A fair  offer,  Jeanie,  is 
nae  cause  of  feud  — Ae  man  may  bring  a horse  to 
the  water,  but  twenty  wunna  gar  him  drink  — And 

as  for  wasting  my  substance  on  other  folk’s  joes  ” 

There  was  something  in  the  last  hint  that  net- 
tled Jeanie’s  honest  pride.  “I  was  begging  nane 
frae  your  honour,”  she  said ; “ least  of  a’  on  sic  a 
score  as  ye  pit  it  on.  — Gude  morning  to  ye,  sir ; 
ye  hae  been  kind  to  my  father,  and  it  isna  in  my 
heart  to  think  otherwise  than  kindly  of  you.” 

So  saying,  she  left  the  room,  without  listening 
to  a faint  “ But,  Jeanie  — Jeanie  — stay,  woman  ! ” 
and  traversing  the  court-yard  with  a quick  step, 
she  set  out  on  her  forward  journey,  her  bosom 
glowing  with  that  natural  indignation  and  shame, 
which  an  honest  mind  feels  at  having  subjected  it- 
self to  ask  a favour,  which  had  been  unexpectedly 
refused.  When  out  of  the  Laird’s  ground,  and  once 
more  upon  the  public  road,  her  pace  slackened,  her 
anger  cooled,  and  anxious  anticipations  of  the  con- 
sequence of  this  unexpected  disappointment  began 
to  influence  her  with  other  feelings.  Must  she 
then  actually  beg  her  way  to  London  ? for  such 
seemed  the  alternative  ; or  must  she  turn  back,  and 
solicit  her  father  for  money ; and  by  doing  so  lose 
time,  which  was  precious,  besides  the  risk  of  en- 
countering his  positive  prohibition  respecting  her 
journey  ? Yet  she  saw  no  medium  between  these  al- 
ternatives ; and,  while  she  walked  slowly  on,  was  still 
meditating  whether  it  were  not  better  to  return. 

While  she  was  thus  in  an  uncertainty,  she  heard 
the  clatter  of  a horse’s  hoofs,  and  a well-known 
voice  calling  her  name.  She  looked  round,  and  saw 
advancing  towards  her  on  a pony,  whose  bare  back 


I 


m jffifij&r 

■ • OF  THE 

mmim  m illihois 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN. 


2? 


and  halter  assorted  ill  with  the  nightgown,  slip- 
pers, and  laced  cocked-hat  of  the  rider,  a cavalier 
of  no  less  importance  than  Dumbiedikes  himself. 
In  the  energy  of  his  pursuit,  he  had  overcome 
even  the  Highland  obstinacy  of  Rory  Bean,  and 
compelled  that  self-willed  palfrey  to  canter  the 
way  his  rider  chose ; which  Rory,  however,  per- 
formed with  all  the  symptoms  of  reluctance,  turn- 
ing his  head,  and  accompanying  every  bound  he 
made  in  advance  with  a side-long  motion,  which 
indicated  his  extreme  wish  to  turn  round,  — a man- 
oeuvre which  nothing  but  the  constant  exercise  of 
the  Laird's  heels  and  cudgel  could  possibly  have 
counteracted. 

When  the  Laird  came  up  with  Jeanie,  the  first 
words  he  uttered  were,  — “Jeanie,  they  say  ane 
shouldna  aye  take  a woman  at  her  first  word  ? ” 

“ Ay,  but  ye  maun  take  me  at  mine,  Laird,"  said 
Jeanie,  looking  on  the  ground,  and  walking  on 
without  a pause.  “ I hae  but  ae  word  to  bestow 
on  ony  body,  and  that’s  aye  a true  ane." 

“ Then,"  said  Dumbiedikes,  “ at  least  ye  suldna 
aye  take  a man  at  his  first  word.  Ye  maunna  gang 
this  wilfu’  gate  sillerless,  come  o’t  what  like” — 
He  put  a purse  into  her  hand.  “ I wad  gie  you 
Rory  too,  but  he’s  as  wilfu’  as  yoursell  and  he’s 
ower  weel  used  to  a gate  that  maybe  he  and  I hae 
gaen  ower  aften,  and  he’ll  gang  nae  road  else." 

“ But,  Laird,"  said  Jeanie,  “ though  I ken  my 
father  will  satisfy  every  penny  of  this  siller,  whaL 
ever  there’s  o’t,  yet  I wadna  like  to  borrow  it  frae 
ane  that  maybe  ‘thinks  of  something  mair  than  the 
paying  o’t  back  again." 

“ There’s  just  twenty-five  guineas  o’t,"  said  Dum- 
biedikes, with  a gentle  sigh,  “and  whether  youi 


i 


28  TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 

father  pays  or  disna  pay,  I make  ye'free  till’t  with- 
out another  word.  Gang  where  ye  like  — do  what 
ye  like  — and  marry  a’  the  Butlers  in  the  country, 
gin  ye  like  — And  sae,  gude  morning  to  you,  Jeanie.” 

“ And  God  bless  you,  Laird,  wi’  mony  a gude 
morning,”  said  Jeanie,  her  heart  more  softened  by 
the  unwonted  generosity  of  this  uncouth  character, 
than  perhaps  Butler  might  have  approved,  had  he 
known  her  feelings  at  that  moment;  “and  com- 
fort, and  the  Lord’s  peace,  and  the  peace  of  the 
world,  be  with  you,  if  we  suld  never  meet  again  ! ” 

Dumbiedikes  turned  and  waved  his  hand ; and 
his  pony,  much  more  willing  to  return  than  he  had 
been  to  set  out,  hurried  him  homewards  so  fast, , 
that,  wanting  the  aid  of  a regular  bridle,  as  well  as 
of  saddle  and  stirrups,  he  was  too  much  puzzled 
to  keep  his  seat  to  permit  of  his  looking  behind,  , 
even  to  give  the  parting  glance  of  a forlorn  swain. 
I am  ashamed  to  say,  that  the  sight  of  a lover,  run 
away  with  in  nightgown  and  slippers  and  a laced, 
hat,  by  a bare-backed  Highland  pony,  had  some- 
thing in  it  of  a sedative,  even  to  a grateful  and 
deserved  burst  of  affectionate  esteem.  The  figure, 
of  Dumbiedikes  was  too  ludicrous  not  to  confirm 
Jeanie  in  the  original  sentiments  she  entertained 
towards  him. 

“He’s  a gude  creature,”  said  she,  “and  a kind 
— it’s  a pity  he  has  sae  willyard  a powny.”  And; 
she  immediately  turned  her  thoughts  to  the  impor- 
tant journey  which  she  had  commenced,  reflecting 
with  pleasure,  that,  according  to  her  habits  of  life 
and  of  undergoing  fatigue,  she  was  now  amply  or 
even  superfluously  provided  with  the  means  of  en- 
countering the  expenses  of  the  road,  up  and  down 
from  London,  and  all  other  expenses  whatever. 


CHAPTER  III. 


What  strange  and  wayward  thoughts  will  slide 
Into  a lover’s  head ; 

“ O mercy  ! ” to  myself  I cried, 

“ If  Lucy  should  be  dead  ! ” 

Wordsworth. 

In  pursuing  her  solitary  journey,  our  heroine,  soon 
after  passing  the  house  of  Dumbiedikes,  gained  a 
little  eminence,  from  which,  on  looking  to  the  east- 
ward down  a prattling  brook,  whose  meanders  were 
shaded  with  straggling  willows  and  alder  trees, 
she  could  see  the  cottages  of  Woodend  and  Beer- 
sheba,  the  haunts  and  habitation  of  her  early  life, 
and  could  distinguish  the  common  on  which  she 
had  so  often  herded  sheep,  and  the  recesses  of  the 
rivulet  where  she  had  pulled  rushes  with  Butler, 
to  plait  crowns  and  sceptres  for  her  sister  Effie, 
then  a beautiful  but  spoiled  child,  of  about  three 
years  old.  The  recollections  which  the  scene 
brought  with  them  were  so  bitter,  that,  had  she 
indulged  them,  she  would  have  sate  down  and  re- 
lieved her  heart  with  tears. 

“But  I kend,”  said  Jeanie,  when  she  gave  an 
account  of  her  pilgrimage,  “that  greeting  would 
do  but  little  good,  and  that  it  was  mair  beseeming 
to  thank  the  Lord,  that  had  showed  me  kindness 
and  countenance  by  means  of  a man,  that  mony 
ca’d  a Nabal  and  churl,  but  wha  was  free  of  his 
gudes  to  me  as  ever  the  fountain  was  free  of  the 


30 


TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 


stream.  And  I minded  the  Scripture  about  the  sin 
of  Israel  at  Meribah,  when  the  people  murmured, 
although  Moses  had  brought  water  from  the  dry 
rock  that  the  congregation  might  drink  and  live. 
Sae,  I wad  not  trust  mysell  with  another  look  at 
puir  Woodend,  for  the  very  blue  reek  that  came 
out  of  the  lum-head  pat  me  in  mind  of  the  change 
of  market  days  with  us.” 

In  this  resigned  and  Christian  temper  she  pur- 
sued her  journey,  until  she  was  beyond  this  place 
of  melancholy  recollections,  and  not  distant  from 
the  village  where  Butler  dwelt,  which,  with  its  old- 
fashioned  church  and  steeple,  rises  among  a tuft 
of  trees,  occupying  the  ridge  of  an  eminence  to 
the  south  of  Edinburgh.  At  a quarter  of  a mile’s 
distance  is  a clumsy  square  tower,  the  residence  of 
the  Laird  of  Libberton,  who,  in  former  times,  with 
the  habits  of  the  predatory  chivalry  of  Germany,  is 
said  frequently  to  have  annoyed  the  city  of  Edin- 
burgh, by  intercepting  the  supplies  and  merchan- 
dise which  came  to  the  town  from  the  southward. 

This  village,  its  tower,  and  its  church,  did  not 
lie  precisely  in  Jeanie’s  road  towards  England; 
but  they  were  not  much  aside  from  it,  and  the  vil- 
lage was  the  abode  of  Butler.  She  had  resolved 
to  see  him  in  the  beginning  of  her  journey,  because 
she  conceived  him  the  most  proper  person  to  write 
to  her  father  concerning  her  resolution  and  her 
hopes.  There  was  probably  another  reason  latent 
in  her  affectionate  bosom.  She  wished  once  more 
to  see  the  object  of  so  early  and  so  sincere  an 
attachment,  before  commencing  a pilgrimage,  the 
perils  of  which  she  did  not  disguise  from  herself, 
although  she  did  not  allow  them  so  to  press  upon 
her  mind  as  to  diminish  the  strength  and  energy 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN. 


3J 

of  her  resolution.  A visit  to  a lover  from  a young 
person  in  a higher  rank  of  life  than  Jeanie’s,  would 
have  had  something  forward  and  improper  in  its 
character.  But  the  simplicity  of  her  rural  habits 
was  unacquainted  with  these  punctilious  ideas  of 
decorum,  and  no  notion,  therefore,  of  impropriety 
crossed  her  imagination,  as,  setting  out  upon  a long 
journey,  she  went  to  bid  adieu  to  an  early  friend. 

There  was  still  another  motive  that  pressed  upon 
her  mind  with  additional  force  as  she  approached 
the  village.  She  had  looked  anxiously  for  Butler 
in  the  court-house,  and  had  expected  that  certainly, 
in  some  part  of  that  eventful  day,  he  would  have 
appeared  to  bring  such  countenance  and  support  as 
he  could  give  to  his  old  friend,  and  the  protector 
of  his  youth,  even  if  her  own  claims  were  laid  aside. 
She  knew,  indeed,  that  he  was  under  a certain  de- 
gree of  restraint ; but  she  still  had  hoped  that  he 
would  have  found  means  to  emancipate  himself 
from  it,  at  least  for  one  day.  In  short,  the  wild 
and  wayward  thoughts  which  Wordsworth  has  de- 
scribed as  rising  in  an  absent  lover’s  imagination 
suggested,  as  the  only  explanation  of  his  absence, 
that  Butler  must  be  very  ill.  And  so  much  had 
this  wrought  on  her  imagination,  that  when  she 
approached  the  cottage  in  which  her  lover  occupied 
a small  apartment,  and  which  had  been  pointed  out 
to  her  by  a maiden  with  a milk-pail  on  her  head, 
she  trembled  at  anticipating  the  answer  she  might 
receive  on  enquiring  for  him. 

Her  fears  in  this  case  had,  indeed,  only  hit  upon 
the  truth.  Butler,  whose  constitution  was  natu- 
rally feeble,  did  not  soon  recover  the  fatigue  of 
body  and  distress  of  mind  which  he  had  suffered, 
in  consequence  of  the  tragical  events  with  which 


32 


TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 


our  narrative  commenced.  The  painful  idea  that 
his  character  was  breathed  on  by  suspicion,  was  an 
aggravation  to  his  distress. 

But  the  most  cruel  addition  was  the  absolute 
prohibition  laid  by  the  magistrates  on  his  holding 
any  communication  with  Deans  or  his  family.  It 
had  unfortunately  appeared  likely  to  them,  that 
some  intercourse  might  be  again  attempted  with 
that  family  by  Robertson,  through  the  medium  of 
Butler,  and  this  they  were  * anxious  to  intercept,  or 
prevent,  if  possible.  The  measure  was  not  meant 
as  a harsh  or  injurious  severity  on  the  part  of 
the  magistrates ; but,  in  Butler’s  circumstances,  it 
pressed  cruelly  hard.  He  felt  he  must  be  suffer- 
ing under  the  bad  opinion  of  the  person  who  was 
dearest  to  him,  from  an  imputation  of  unkind 
desertion,  the  most  alien  to  his  nature. 

This  painful  thought,  pressing  on  a frame  already 
injured,  brought  on  a succession  of  slow  and  linger- 
ing feverish  attacks,  which  greatly  impaired  his 
health,  and  at  length  rendered  him  incapable  even 
of  the  sedentary  duties  of  the  school,  on  which  his 
bread  depended.  Fortunately,  ol^d  Mr.  Whackbairn, 
who  was  the  principal  teacher  of  the  little  parochial 
establishment,  was  sincerely  attached  to  Butler. 
Besides  that  he  was  sensible  of  his  merits  and  value 
as  an  assistant,  which  had  greatly  raised  the  credit 
of  his  little  school,  the  ancient  pedagogue,  who  had 
himself  been  tolerably  educated,  retained  some  taste 
for  classical  lore,  and  would  gladly  relax,  after  the 
drudgery  of  the  school  was  past,  by  conning  over 
a few  pages  of  Horace  or  Juvenal  with  his  usher. 
A similarity  of  taste  begot  kindness,  and  he  accord- 
ingly saw  Butler’s  increasing  debility  with  great 
compassion,  roused  up  his  own  energies  to  teaching 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN. 


33 


the  school  in  the  morning  hours,  insisted  upon  his 
assistant’s  reposing  himself  at  that  period,  and, 
besides,  supplied  him  with  such  comforts  as  the 
patient’s  situation  required,  and  his  means  were 
inadequate  to  compass. 

Such  was  Butler’s  situation,  scarce  able  to  drag 
himself  to  the  place  where  his  daily  drudgery  must 
gain  his  daily  bread,  and  racked  with  a thousand 
fearful  anticipations  concerning  the  fate  of  those 
who  were  dearest  to  him  in  the  world,  when  the 
trial  and  condemnation  of  Effie  Deans  put  the  cope- 
stone  upon  his  mental  misery. 

He  had  a particular  account  of  these  events  from 
a fellow-student  who  resided  in  the  same  village, 
and  who,  having  been  present  on  the  melancholy 
occasion,  was  able  to  place  it  in  all  its  agony  of  hor- 
rors before  his  excruciated  imagination.  That  sleep 
should  have  visited  his  eyes,  after  such  a curfew- 
note,  was  impossible.  A thousand  dreadful  visions 
haunted  his  imagination  all  night,  and  in  the  morn- 
ing he  was  awaked  from  a feverish  slumber,  by  the 
only  circumstance  which  could  have  added  to  his 
distress  — the  visit  of  an  intrusive  ass. 

This  unwelcome  visitant  was  no  other  than  Bar- 
toline  Saddletree,  The  worthy  and  sapient  burgher 
had  kept  his  appointment  at  MacCroskie’s,  with 
Plumdamas  and  some  other  neighbours,  to  discuss 
the  Duke  of  Argyle’s  speech,  the  justice  of  Effie 
Deans’s  condemnation,  and  the  improbability  of 
her  obtaining  a reprieve.  This  sage  conclave  dis- 
puted high  and  drank  deep,  and  on  the  next  morn- 
ing Bartoline  felt,  as  he  expressed  it,  as  if  his  head 
was  like  a “ confused  progress  of  writs.” 

To  bring  his  reflective  powers  to  their  usual  se- 
renity, Saddletree  resolved  to  take  a morning’s  ride 


34 


TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 


upon  a certain  hackney,  which  he,  Plumdamas,  and 
another  honest  shopkeeper,  combined  to  maintain 
by  joint  subscription,  for  occasional  jaunts  for  the 
purpose  of  business  or  exercise.  As  Saddletree  had 
two  children  boarded  with  Whackbairn,  and  was, 
as  we  have  seen,  rather  fond  of  Butler’s  society,  he 
turned  his  palfrey’s  head  towards  Libberton,  and 
came,  as  we  have  already  said,  to  give  the  unfortu- 
nate usher  that  additional  vexation,  of  which  Imo- 
gen complains  so  feelingly,  when  she  says, 

“ I’m  sprighted  with  a fool  — 

Sprighted  and  anger’d  worse.” 

If  any  thing  could  have  added  gall  to  bitterness, 
it  was  the  choice  which  Saddletree  made  of  a sub- 
ject for  his  prosing  harangues,  being  the  trial  of 
Effie  Deans,  and  the  probability  of  her  being  exe- 
cuted. Every  word  fell  on  Butler’s  ear  like  the 
knell  of  a death-bell,  or  the  note  of  a screech-owl. 

Jeanie  paused  at  the  door  of  her  lover’s  humble 
abode  upon  hearing  the  loud  and  pompous  tones  of 
Saddletree  sounding  from  the  inner  apartment, 
“ Credit  me,  it  will  be  sae,  Mr.  Butler.  Brandy 
cannot  save  her.  She  maun  gang  down  the  Bow 
wi’  the  lad  in  the  pioted  coat 1 at  her  heels.  — I am 
sorry  for  the  lassie,  but  the  law,  sir,  maun  hae  its 
course  — 

‘ Vivat  Rex, 

Currat  Lex,’ 

as  the  poet  has  it,  in  whilk  of  Horace’s  odes  1 
know  not.” 

Here  Butler  groaned,  in  utter  impatience  of  the 
brutality  and  ignorance  which  Bartoline  had  con- 

1 The  executioner,  in  a livery  of  black  or  dark  grey  and  silver, 
likened  by  low  wit  to  a magpie. 


THE  HEART  OE  MID-LOTHIAN. 


35 


trived  to  amalgamate  into  one  sentence.  But  Sad- 
dletree, like  other  prosers,  was  blessed  with  a happy 
obtuseness  of  perception  concerning  the  unfavour- 
able impression  which  he  generally  made  on  his 
auditors.  He  proceeded  to  deal  forth  his  scraps  of 
legal  knowledge  without  mercy,  and  concluded  by 
asking  Butler  with  great  self-complacency,  “Was 
it  na  a pity  my  father  didna  send  me  to  Utrecht? 
Havena  I missed  the  chance  to  turn  out  as  claris- 
simus  an  ictus , as  auld  Grunwiggin  himsell  ? — What- 
for  dinna  ye  speak,  Mr.  Butler?  Wad  I no  hae 
been  a clarissimus  ictus?  — Eh,  man?” 

“ I really  do  not  understand  you,  Mr.  Saddle- 
tree,” said  Butler,  thus  pushed  hard  for  an  answer. 
His  faint  and  exhausted  tone  of  voice  was  instantly 
drowned  in  the  sonorous  bray  of  Bartoline. 

“No  understand  me,  man  ? — Ictus  is  Latin  for 
a lawyer,  is  it  not  ? ” 

“Not  that  ever  I heard  of,”  answered  Butler, 
in  the  same  dejected  ton®. 

“ The  deil  ye  didna  ! — See,  man,  I got  the  word 
but  this  morning  out  of  a memorial  of  Mr.  Cross- 
myloof  s — see,  there  it  is,  ictus  clarissimus  et  perti 
— joeritissimus  — it’s  a’  Latin,  for  it’s  printed  in  the 
Italian  types.” 

“0,  you  mean  juris- consultus  — Ictus  is  an  ab- 
breviation for  juris-consultus.  ” 

“ Dinna  tell  me,  man,”  persevered  Saddletree, 
“there’s  nae  abbreviates  except  in  adjudications; 
and  this  is  a’  about  a servitude  of  water-drap  — 
that  is  to  say,  tillicidian}  (maybe  ye’ll  say  that’s 
no  Latin  neither,)  in  Mary  King’s  Close  in  the 
High  Street.” 

“ Very  likely,”  said  poor  Butler,  overwhelmed 

1 He  meant,  probably,  stilUcidium . 


36 


TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 


by  the  noisy  perseverance  of  his  visitor.  “ I am 
not  able  to  dispute  with  you.” 

“ Few  folk  are  — few  folk  are,  Mr.  Butler,  though 
I say  it,  that  shouldna  say  it,”  returned  Bartoline, 
with  great  delight.  “Now,  it  will  be  twa  hours 
yet  or  ye’re  wanted  in  the  schule,  and  as  ye  are  no 
weel,  I’ll  sit  wi’  you  to  divert  ye,  and  explain  t’ye 
the  nature  of  a tillicidian.  Ye  maun  ken,  the 
petitioner,  Mrs.  Crombie,  a very  decent  woman,  is 
a friend  of  mine,  and  I hae  stude  her  friend  in  this 
case,  and  brought  her  wi’  credit  into  the  court,  and 
I doubtna  that  in  due  time  she  will  win  out  o’t  wi’ 
credit,  win  she  or  lose  she.  Ye  see,  being  an  infe- 
rior tenement  or  laigh  house,  we  grant  ourselves 
to  be  burdened  wi’  the  tillicide , that  is,  that  we  are 
obligated  to  receive  the  natural  water-drap  of  the 
superior  tenement,  sae  far  as  the  same  fa’s  frae  the  ; 
heavens,  or  the  roof  of  our  neighbour’s  house,  and 
from  thence  by  the  gutters  or  eaves  upon  our  . 
laigh  tenement.  But  the  other  night  comes  a : 
Highland  quean  of  a lass,  and  she  flashes,  God  kens 
what,  out  at  the  eastmost  window  of  Mrs.  Mac- 
Phail’s  house,  that’s  the  superior  tenement.  I 
believe  the  auld  women  wad  hae  greed,  for  Luckie  i 
* MacPhail  sent  down  the  lass  to  tell  my  friend  Mrs.  i 
Crombie  that  she  had  made  the  gardyloo  out  of  • 
the  wrang  window,  from  respect  for  twa  High-  ' 
landmen  that  were  speaking  Gaelic  in  the  close  be-  j 
low  the  right  ane.  But  luckily  for  Mrs.  .Crombie, 

I just  chanced  to  come  in  in  time  to  break  aff  the 
communing,  for  it’s  a pity  the  point  suldna  be  tried. 
We  had  Mrs.  MacPhail  into  the  Ten-Mark  Court 
— The  Hieland  limmer  of  a lass  wanted  to  swear 

herself  free  — but  haud  ye  there,  says  I ” 

The  detailed  account  of  this  important  suit  might 


THE  HEART  OE  MID-LOTHJAN, 


37 


have  lasted  until  poor  Butler’s  hour  of  rest  was  com- 
pletely exhausted,  had  not  Saddletree  been  inter- 
rupted by  the  noise  of  voices  at  the  door.  The 
woman  of  the  house  where  Butler  lodged,  on  re- 
turning with  her  pitcher  from  the  well,  whence  she 
had  been. fetching  water  for  the  family,  found  our, 
heroine  Jeanie  Deans  standing  at  the  door,  impa- 
tient of  the  prolix  harangue  of  Saddletree,  yet  un- 
willing to  enter  until  he  should  have  taken  his  leave. 

The  good  woman  abridged  the  period  of  hesita- 
tion by  enquiring,  “ Was  ye  wanting  the  gudeman 
or  me,  lass  ? ” 

“ I wanted  to  speak  with  Mr.  Butler,  if  he’s  at 
leisure,”  replied  Jeanie. 

“ Gang  in  by  then,  my  woman,”  answered  the 
goodwife ; and  opening  the  door  of  a room,  she 
announced  the  additional  visitor  with,  “ Mr.  Butler, 
here’s  a lass  wants  to  speak  t’ye.” 

The  surprise  of  Butler  was  extreme,  when  Jeanie, 
who  seldom  stirred  half  a mile  from  home,  entered 
his  apartment  upon  this  annunciation. 

‘'Good  God!”  he  said,  starting  from  his  chair, 
while  alarm  restored  to  his  cheek  the  colour  of 
which  sickness  had  deprived  it ; “ some  new  mis- 
fortune must  have  happened  V* 

"None,  Mr.  Reuben,  but  what  you  must  hae 
heard  of  — but  0,  ye  are  looking  ill  yoursell ! ” — for 
“ the  hectic  of  a moment  ” had  not  concealed  from 
her  affectionate  eye  the  ravages  which  lingering 
disease  and  anxiety  of  mind  had  made  in  her  lover’s 
person. 

“No:  I am  well  — quite  well,”  said  Butler,  with 
eagerness;  “if  I can  do  any  thing  to  assist  you, 
Jeanie  — or  your  father.” 

“ Ay,  to  be  sure,”  said  Saddletree ; “ the  family 


38 


TALES  OE  MY  LANDLORD, 


may  be  considered  as  limited  to  them  twa  now,  just 
as  if  Effie  had  never  been  in  the  tailzie,  puir  thing. 
But,  Jeanie  lass,  what  brings  you  out  to  Libberton 
sae  air  in  the  morning,  and  your  father  lying  ill  in 
the  Luckenbooths  ? ” 

“ I had  a message  frae  my  father  to  Mr.  Butler;* 
said  Jeanie,  with  embarrassment;  but  instantly 
feeling  ashamed  of  the  fiction  to  which  she  had  re- 
sorted, for  her  love  of  and  veneration  for  truth  was 
almost  quaker-like,  she  corrected  herself  — s‘  That 
is  to  say,  I wanted  to  speak  with  Mr.  Butler  about 
some  business  of  my  father's  and  puir  Effie’s.” 

“ Is  it  law  business  ? ” said  Bartoline  ; " because 
if  it  be,  ye  had  better  take  my  opinion  on  the  sub- 
ject than  his.” 

“ It  is  not  just  law  business,”  said  Jeanie,  who 
saw  considerable  inconvenience  might  arise  from 
letting  Mr.  Saddletree  into  the  secret  purpose  of  her 
journey;  “but  I want  Mr.  Butler  to  write  a letter 
for  me.” 

“ Very  right/'  said  Mr.  Saddletree  ; “ and  if  ye'll 
tell  me  what  it  is  about,  I'll  dictate  to  Mr0  Butler 
as  Mr.  Crossmyloof  does  to  his  clerk.  — Get  your 
pen  and  ink  in  initialibus , Mr.  Butler.” 

Jeanie  looked  at  Butler,  and  wrung  her  hands 
with  vexation  and  impatience.  1 

“ I believe,  Mr.  Saddletree,”  said  Butler,  who  saw 
the  necessity  of  getting  rid  of  him  at  all  events,  : 
“ that  Mr.  Whackbairn  will  be  somewhat  affronted, 
if  you  do  not  hear  your  boys  called  up  to  their 
lessons.” 

“ Indeed,  Mr.  Butler,  and  that’s  as  true ; and  I 
promised  to  ask  a half  play-day  to  the  schule,  so 
that  the  bairns  might  gang  and  see  the  hanging, 
which  canna  but  have  a pleasing  effect  on  their 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN. 


39 


young  minds,  seeing  there  is  no  knowing  what  they 
may  come  to  themselves.  — Odd  so,  I didna  mind 
ye  were  here,  Jeanie  Deans;  but  ye  maun  use  your- 
sell  to  hear  the  matter  spoken  o\ — Keep  Jeanie 
here  till  I come  back,  Mr.  Butler;  I wunna  bide 
ten  minutes.” 

And  with  this  unwelcome  assurance  of  an  imme- 
diate return,  he  relieved  them  of  the  embarrass- 
ment of  his  presence. 

“ Reuben,”  said  Jeanie,  who  saw  the  necessity 
of  using  the  interval  of  his  absence  in  discussing 
what  had  brought  her  there,  “I  am  bound  on  a 
lang  journey  — I am  gaun  to  Lunnon  to  ask  Effie’s 
life  of  the  king  and  of  the  queen.” 

“ Jeanie ! you  are  surely  not  yourself,”  answered 
Butler,  in  the  utmost  surprise ; “ you  go  to  Lon- 
don — you  address  the  king  and  queen ! ” 

“ And  what  for  no,  Reuben  ? ” said  Jeanie,  with 
all  the  composed  simplicity  of  her  character ; “ it's 
but  speaking  to  a mortal  man  and  woman  when  a' 
is  done.  And  their  hearts  maun  be  made  o'  flesh 
and  blood  like  other  folk’s,  and  Effie’s  story  wad 
melt  them  were  they  stane.  Eorby,  I hae  heard 
that  they  are  no  sic  bad  folk  as  what  the  jacobites 
ca’  them.” 

“Yes,  Jeanie,”  said  Butler;  “but  their  magni- 
ficence — their  retinue  — the  difficulty  of  getting 
audience  ? ” 

“ I have  thought  of  a’  that,  Reuben,  and  it  shall 
not  break  my  spirit.  Nae  doubt  their  claiths  will 
be  very  grand,  wi’  their  crowns  on  their  heads,  and 
their  sceptres  in  their  hands,  like  the  great  King 
Ahasuerus  when  he  sate  upon  his  royal  throne  for- 
anent  the  gate  of  his  house,  as  we  are  told  in  Scrip- 
ture. But  I have  that  within  me  that  will  keep 


40 


TALES  0E  MY  LANDLORD. 


my  heart  from  failing,  and  I am  amaist  sure  that  1 
will  be  strengthened  to  speak  the  errand  I came 
for.” 

“ Alas  ! alas  ! ” said  Butler,  “ the  kings  .nowa- 
days do  not  sit  in  the  gate  to  administer  justice,  as 
in  patriarchal  times.  I know  as  little  of  courts  as 
you  do,  Jeanie,  by  experience  ; but  by  reading  and 
report  I know,  that  the  King  of  Britain  does  every 
thing  by  means  of  his  ministers.” 

“ And  if  they  be  upright,  God-fearing  ministers,” 
said  Jeanie,  “ it’s  sae  muckle  the  better  chance  for 
Effie  and  me.”, 

“ But  you  do  not  even  understand  the  most  or- 
dinary words  relating  to  a court,”  said  Butler ; “ by 
the  ministry  is  meant  not  clergymen,  but  the  king’s 
official  servants.” 

“Nae  doubt,”  returned  Jeanie,  “ he  maun  hae  a ] 
great  number  mair,  I daur  to  say,  than  the  Duchess 
has  at  Dalkeith,  and  great  folk’s  servants  are  aye  , 
mair  saucy  than  themselves.  But  I’ll  be  decently 
put  on,  and  I’ll  offer  them  a trifle  o’  siller,  as  if  I 
came  to  see  the  palace.  Or,  if  they  scruple  that, 
I’ll  tell  them  I’m  come  on  a business  of  life  and 
death,  and  then  they  will  surely  bring  me  to  speech 
of  the  king  and  queen  ? ” 

Butler  shook  his  head.  “ 0 Jeanie,  this  is  en-  \ 
tirely  a wild  dream.  You  can  never  see  them  but 
through  some  great  lord’s  intercession,  and  I think  \ 
it  is  scarce  possible  even  then.” 

“Weel,  but  maybe  I can  get  that  too,”  said 
Jeanie,  “ with  a little  helping  from  you.” 

“ From  me,  Jeanie ! this  is  the  wildest  imagina- 
tion of  all.” 

“Ay,  but  it  is  not,  Reuben.  Havena  I heard 
you  say,  that  your  grandfather  (that  my  father 


THE  HEART  OE  MID-LOTHIAN. 


41 


never  likes  to  hear  about,  did  some  gude  langsyne 
to  the  forbear  of  this  MacCallummore,  when  he  was 
Lord  of  Lorn  ? ” 

“ He  did  so,”  said  Butler,  eagerly,  “ and  I can 
prove  it.  — I will  write  to  the  Duke  of  Argyle  — 
report  speaks  him  a good  kindly  man,  as  he  is 
known  for  a brave  soldier  and  true  patriot  — I will 
conjure  him  to  stand  between  your  sister  and  this 
cruel  fate.  There  is  but  a poor  chance  of  success, 
but  we  will  try  all  means/’ 

“We  must  try  all  means,”  replied  Jeanie  ; “ but 
writing  winna  do  it  — a letter  canna  look,  and  pray, 
and  beg,  and  beseech,  as  the  human  voice  can  do  to 
the  human  heart.  A letter’s  like  the  music  that  the 
ladies  have  for  their  spinets  — naething  but  black 
scores,  compared  to  the  same  tune  played  or  sung. 
It’s  word  of  mouth  maun  do  it,  or  naething,  Reuben.” 

“ You  are  right,”  said  Reuben,  recollecting  his 
firmness,  “ and  I will  hope  that  Heaven  has  sug- 
gested to  your  kind  heart  and  firm  courage  the  only 
possible  means  of  saving  the  life  of  this  unfortunate 
girl.  But,  Jeanie,  you  must  not  take  this  most 
perilous  journey  alone  ; I have  an  interest  in  you, 
and  I will  not  agree  that  my  Jeanie  throws  herself 
away.  You  must  even,  in  the  present  circumstances, 
give  me  a husband’s  right  to  protect  you,  and  I 
will  go  with  you  myself  on  this  journey,  and  assist 
you  to  do  your  duty  by  your  family.” 

“ Alas,  Reuben  ! ” said  Jeanie  in  her  turn,  “ this 
must  not  be  ; a pardon  will  not  gie  my  sister  her 
fair  fame  again,  or  make  me  a bride  fitting  for 
an  honest  man  and  an  usefu’  minister.  Wha  wad 
mind  what  he  said  in  the  pu’pit,  that  had  to  wife 
the  sister  of  a woman  that  was  condemned  for 
sic  wickedness  I ” 


42  TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 

“But,  Jeanie,”  pleaded  her  lover,  “I  do  not  be- 
lieve, and  I cannot  believe,  that  Effie  has  done  this 
deed.” 

“ Heaven  bless  you  for  saying  sae,  Reuben ! ” 
answered  Jeanie  ; “ but  she  maun  bear  the  blame 
o’t,  after  all.” 

“ But  that  blame,  were  it  even  justly  laid  on  her, 
does  not  fall  on  you  ? ” 

“ Ah,  Reuben,  Reuben,”  replied  the  young  wo- 
man, “ ye  ken  it  is  a blot  that  spreads  to  kith  and 
kin.  — Ichabod  — as  my  poor  father  says  — the 
glory  is  departed  from  our  house ; for  the  poorest 
man’s  house  has  a glory,  where  there,  are  true  hands, 
a divine  heart,  and  an  honest  fame  — And  the  last 
has  gane  frae  us  a’.”  < 

“ But,  Jeanie,  consider  your  word  and  plighted 
faith  to  me ; and  would  ye  undertake  such  a jour-  ! 
ney  without  a man  to  protect  you  ? — and  who 
should  that  protector  be  but  your  husband  ? ” 

“ You  are  kind  and  good,  Reuben,  and  wad  tak 
me  wi’  a’  my  shame,  I doubtna.  But  ye  canna  but 
own  that  this  is  no  time  to  marry  or  be  given  in 
marriage.  Na,  if  that  suld  ever  be,  it  maun  be  in 
another  and  a better  season.  — And,  dear  Reuben, 
ye  speak  of  protecting  me  on  my  journey — Alas  ! 
who  will  protect  and  take  care  of  you  ? — your  very 
limbs  tremble  with  standing  for  ten  minutes  on  the 
floor  ; how  could  you  undertake  a journey  as  far 
as  Lunnon  ? ” 

“ But  I am  strong  — I am  well,”  continued  But- 
ler, sinking  in  his  seat  totally  exhausted,  “ at  least 
I shall  be  quite  well  to-morrow.” 

“ Ye  see,  and  ye  ken,  ye  maun  just  let  me  de- 
part,” said  Jeanie,  after  a pause;  and  then  taking 
his  extended  hand,  and  gazing  kindly  in  his  face. 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN. 


43 


she  added,  “ It's  e’en  a grief  the  mair  to  me  to  see 
you  in  this  way.  But  ye  maun  keep  up  your  heart 
for  Jeanie’s  sake,  for  if  she  isna  your  wife,  she  will 
never  be  the  wife  of  living  man.  And  now  gie  me 
the  paper  for  MacCallummore,  and  bid  God  speed 
me  on  my  way.” 

There  was  something  of  romance  in  Jeanie’s  ven- 
turous resolution  ; yet,  on  consideration,  as  it  seemed 
impossible  to  alter  it  by  persuasion,  or  to  give 
her  assistance  but  by  advice,  Butler,  after  some  far- 
ther debate,  put  into  her  hands  the  paper  she  de- 
sired, which,  with  the  muster-roll  in  which  it  was 
folded  up,  were  the  sole  memorials  of  the  stout  and 
enthusiastic  Bible  Butler,  his  grandfather.  While 
Butler  sought  this  document,  Jeanie  had  time  to 
take  up  his  pocket  Bible.  “ I have  marked  a scrip- 
ture,” she  said,  as  she  again  laid  it  down,  “ with 
your  kylevine  pen,  that  will  be  useful  to  us  baith. 
And  ye  maun  tak  the  trouble,  Reuben,  to  write  a’ 
this  to  my  father,  for,  God  help  me,  I have  neither 
head  nor  hand  for  lang  letters  at  ony  time,  forby 
now  ; and  I trust  him  entirely  to  you,  and  I trust 
you  will  soon  be  permitted  to  see  him.  And,  Reu- 
ben, when  ye  do  win  to  the  speech  o’  him,  mind 
a’  the  auld  man’s  bits  o’  ways,  for  J eanie’s  sake ; 
and  dinna  speak  o’  Latin  or  English  terms  to  him, 
for  he’s  o’  the  auld  warld,  and  downa  bide  to  be 
fashed  wi’  them,  though  I daresay  he  may  be 
wrang.  And  dinna  ye  say  muckle  to  him,  but  set 
him  on  speaking  himsell,  for  he’ll  bring  himsell  mair 
comfort  that  way.  And  0,  Reuben,  the  poor  lassie 
in  yon  dungeon  ! — but  I needna  bid  your  kind  heart 
— - gie  her  what  comfort  ye  can  as  soon  as  they  will 
let  ye  see  her  — tell  her  — But  I maunna  speak  mair 
about  her,  for  I maunna  take  leave  o’  ye  wi’  the 


44 


TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 


tear  in  my  ee,  for  that  wadna  be  canny. — God  bless 
ye,  Reuben ! ” 

To  avoid  so  ill  an  omen  she  left  the  room  has- 
tily, while  her  features  yet  retained  the  mournful 
and  affectionate  smile  which  she  had  compelled 
them  to  wear,  in  order  to  support  Butler’s  spirits. 

It  seemed  as  if  the  power  of  sight,  of  speech, 
and  of  reflection,  had  left  him  as  she  disappeared 
from  the  room,  which  she  had  entered  and  retired 
from  so  like  an  apparition.  Saddletree,  who  entered 
immediately  afterwards,  overwhelmed  him  with 
questions,  which  he  answered  without  understand- 
ing them,  and  with  legal  disquisitions,  which  con- 
veyed to  him  no  iota  of  meaning.  At  length  the 
learned  burgess  recollected  that  there  was  a Baron 
Court  to  be  held  at  Loanhead  that  day,  and  though 
it  was  hardly  worth  while,  “ he  might  as  weel  go  5 1 
to  see  if  there  was  ony  thing  doing,  as  he  was  ac- 
quainted with  the  baron-bailie,  who  was  a decent  ? 
man,  and  would  be  glad  of  a word  of  legal  advice.” 

So  soon  as  he  departed,  Butler  flew  to  the  Bible, 
the  last  book  which  Jeanie  had  touched.  To  his 
extreme  surprise,  a paper,  containing  two  or  three 
pieces  of  gold,  dropped  from  the  book.  With  a 
black-lead  pencil,  she  had  marked  the  sixteenth  and 
twenty-fifth  verses  of  the  thirty-seventh  Psalm, — 

“ A little  that  a righteous  man  hath,  is  better  than 
the  riches  of  the  wicked.”  — “I  have  been  young 
and  am  now  old,  yet  have  I not  seen  the  righteous 
forsaken,  nor  his  seed  begging  their  bread.” 

Deeply  impressed  with  the  affectionate  delicacy 
which  shrouded  its  own  generosity  under  the  cover 
of  a providential  supply  to  his  wants,  he  pressed 
the  gold  to  his  lips  with  more  ardour  than  ever  the 
metal  was  greeted  with  by  a miser.  To  emulate 


THE  HEART  OE  MID-LOTHIAN. 


45 


her  devout  firmness  and  confidence  seemed  now  the 
pitch  of  his  ambition,  and  his  first  task  was  to  write 
an  account  to  David  Deans  of  his  daughter’s  reso- 
lution and  journey  southward.  He  studied  every 
sentiment,  and  even  every  phrase,  which  he  thought 
could  reconcile  the  old  man  to  her  extraordinary 
resolution.  The  effect  which  this  epistle  produced 
will  be  hereafter  adverted  to.  Butler  committed  it 
to  the  charge  of  an  honest  clown,  who  had  fre- 
quent dealings  with  Deans  in  the  sale  of  his  dairy 
produce,  and  who  readily  undertook  a journey  to 
Edinburgh,  to  put  the  letter  into  his  own  hands.1 

1 By  dint  of  assiduous  research  I am  enabled  to  certiorate  the 
reader,  that  the  name  of  this  person  was  Saunders  Broadfoot,  and 
that  he  dealt  in  the  wholesome  commodity  called  kirnmilk. 
(Anglice,  butter-milk.)  — J.  C. 


CHAPTER  IV. 


“ My  native  land,  good  night ! ” 

Lord  Byron. 


In  the  present  day,  a journey  from  Edinburgh  to 
London  is  a matter  at  once  safe,  brief,  and  simple, 
however  inexperienced  or  unprotected  the  traveller. 
Numerous  coaches  of  different  rates  of  charge,  and 
as  many  packets,  are  perpetually  passing  and  repass- 
ing betwixt  the  capital  of  Britain  and  her  northern 
sister,  so  that  the  most  timid  or  indolent  may  exe- 
cute such  a journey  upon  a few  hours’  notice.  But 
it  was  different  in  1737.  So  slight  and  infrequent 
was  then  the  intercourse  betwixt  London  and  Edin- 
burgh, that  men  still  alive  remember  that  upon  one 
occasion  the  mail  from  the  former  city  arrived  at 
the  General  Post-Office  in  Scotland,  with  only  one 
letter  in  it.1  The  usual  mode  of  travelling  was  by 
means  of  post-horses,  the  traveller  occupying  one 
and  his  guide  another,  in  which  manner,  by  relays 
of  horses  from  stage  to  stage,  the  journey  might  be 
accomplished  in  a wonderfully  short  time  by  those 
who  could  endure  fatigue.  To  have  the  bones 
shaken  to  pieces  by  a constant  change  of  those 
hacks  was  a luxury  for  the  rich  — the  poor  were  un- 
der the  necessity  of  using  the  mode  of  conveyance 
with  which  nature  had  provided  them. 


1 The  fact  is  certain.  The  single  epistle  was  addressed  to  the 
principal  director  of  the  British  Linen  Company. 


THE  HEART  OE  MID-LOTHIAN. 


47 


With  a strong  heart,  and  a frame  patient  of  fa- 
tigue, Jeanie  Deans,  travelling  at  the  rate  of  twenty 
miles  a-day,  and  sometimes  farther,  traversed  the 
southern  part  of  Scotland,  and  advanced  as  far  as 
Durham. 

Hitherto  she  had  been  either  among  her  own 
country-folk,  or  those  to  whom  her  bare  feet  and 
tartan  screen  were  objects  too  familiar  to  attract 
much  attention.  But  as  she  advanced,  she  per- 
ceived that  both  circumstances  exposed  her  to  sar- 
casm and  taunts,  which  she  might  otherwise  have 
escaped ; and  although  in  her  heart  she  thought 
it  unkind,  and  inhospitable,  to  sneer  at  a passing 
stranger  on  account  of  the  fashion  of  her  attire, 
yet  she  had  the  good  sense  to  alter  those  parts  of 
her  dress  which  attracted  ill-natured  observation. 
Her  checqued  screen  was  deposited  carefully  in  her 
bundle,  and  she  conformed  to  the  national  extrava- 
gance of  wearing  shoes  and  stockings  for  the  whole 
day.  She  confessed  afterwards,  that,  “ besides  the 
wastrife,  it  was  lang  or  she  could  walk  sae  comfort- 
ably with  the  shoes  as  without  them  ; but  there  was 
often  a bit  saft  heather  by  the  road-side,  and  that 
helped  her  weel  on.”  The  want  of  the  screen, 
which  was  drawn  over  the  head  like  a veil,  she  sup- 
plied by  a Ion-grace , as  she  called  it ; a large  straw 
bonnet,  like  those  worn  by  the  English  maidens 
when  labouring  in  the  fields.  “ But  I thought  unco 
shame  o'  my  sell,”  she  said,  “the  first  time  I put 
on  a married  woman’s  loon-grace , and  me  a single 
maiden.” 

With  these  changes  she  had  little,  as  she  said,  to 
make  “ her  kenspeckle  when  she  didna  speak,”  but 
her  accent  and  language  drew  down  on  her  so  many 
jests  and  gibes,  couched  in  a worse  patois  by  far  than 


48 


TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 


her  own,  that  she  soon  found  it  was  her  interest  to 
talk  as  little  and  as  seldom  as  possible.  She  an- 
swered, therefore,  civil  salutations  of  chance  pas- 
sengers with  a civil  curtsy,  and  chose,  with  anxious 
circumspection,  such  places  of  repose  as  looked  at 
once  most  decent  and  sequestered.  She  found. the 
common  people  of  England,  although  inferior  in 
courtesy  to  strangers,  such  as  was  then  practised  in 
her  own  more  unfrequented  country,  yet,  upon  the 
whole,  by  no  means  deficient  in  the  real  duties  of 
hospitality.  She  readily  obtained  food,  and  shelter, 
and  protection  at  a very  moderate  rate,  which  some- 
times the  generosity  of  mine  host  altogether  de- 
clined, with  a blunt  apology, — -“Thee  hast  a lang 
way  afore  thee,  lass ; and  I’se  ne’er  take  penny  out 
o’  a single  vroman’s  purse ; it’s  the  best  friend  thou 
can  have  on  the  road.” 

It  often  happened,  too,  that  mine  hostess  was 
struck  with  “ the  tidy,  nice  Scotch  body,”  and  pro-  \ 
cured  her  an  escort,  or  a cast  in  a waggon,  for  some  ! 
part  of  the  way,  or  gave  her  useful  advice  and  re- 
commendation respecting  her  resting-places. 

At  York  our  pilgrim  stopped  for  the  best  part  of 
a day,  — partly  to  recruit  her  strength,  — partly  be- 
cause she  had  the  good  luck  to  obtain  a lodging  in 
an  inn  kept  by  a countrywoman,  — partly  to  indite  \ 
two  letters  to  her  father  and  Eeuben  Butler ; an  J 
operation  of  some  little  difficulty,  her  habits  being  1 
by  no  means  those  of  literary  composition.  That  to 
her  father  was  in  the  following  words  : — 

u Dearest  Father, — I make  my  present  pilgrimage 
more  heavy  and  burdensome,  through  the  sad  occasion 
to  reflect  that  it  is  without  your  knowledge,  which,  God 
knows,  was  far  contrary  to  my  heart,*  for  Scripture  says, 


THE  HEART  OP  MID  LOTHIAN. 


49 


that  ‘the  vow  of  the  daughter  should  not  be  binding 
without  the  consent  of  the  father/  wherein  it  may  be 
I have  been  guilty  to  tak  this  wearie  journey  without 
your  consent.  Nevertheless,  it  was  borne  in  upon  my 
mind  that  I should  be  an  instrument  to  help  my  poor 
sister  in  this  extremity  of  needcessity,  otherwise  I wad 
not,  for  wealth  or  for  world’s  gear,  or  for  the  haill  lands 
of  Da’keith  and  Lugton,  have  done  the  like  o’  this, 
without  your  free  will  and  knowledge.  0,  dear  father, 
as  ye  wad  desire  a blessing  on  my  journey,  and  upon 
your  household,  speak  a word  or  write  a line  of  comfort 
to  yon  poor  prisoner.  If  she  has  sinned,  she  has  sor- 
rowed and  suffered,  and  ye  ken  better  than  me,  that  we 
maun  forgie  others,  as  we  pray  to  be  forgien.  Dear  fa- 
ther, forgive  my  saying  this  muckle,  for  it  doth  not  be- 
come a young  head  to  instruct  grey  hairs;  but  I am  sae 
far  frae  ye,  that  my  heart  yearns  to  ye  a’,  and  fain  wad 
I hear  that  ye  had  forgien  her  trespass,  and  sae  I nae 
doubt  say  mair  than  may  become  me.  The  folk  here 
are  civil,  and,  like  the  barbarians  unto  the  holy  apostle, 
hae  shown  me  much  kindness ; and  there  are  a sort  of 
chosen  people  in  the  land,  for  they  hae  some  kirks  with- 
out organs  that  are  like  ours,  and  are  called  meeting- 
houses, where  the  minister  preaches  without  a gown. 
But  most  of  the  country  are  prelatists,  whilk  is  awfu’ 
to  think;  and  I saw  twa  men  that  were  ministers  fol- 
lowing hunds,  as  bauld  as  Roslin  or  Driden,  the  young 
Laird  of  Loup-tlie-dike,  or  ony  wild  gallant  in  Lothian. 
A sorrowfu’  sight  to  behold?  O,  dear  father,  may  a 
blessing  be  with  your  down-lying  and  up-rising,  and 
remember  in  your  prayers  your  affectionate  daughter  to 
command, 

“Jean  Deans.” 

A postscript  bore,  — 

“I  learned  from  a decent  woman,  a grazier’s  widow, 
that  they  hae  a cure  for  the  muir-ill  in  Cumberland, 


5° 


TALES  OE  MY  LANDLORD. 


whilk  is  ane  pint,  as  they  ca’t,  of  yill,  whilk  is  a drib- 
ble in  comparison  of  our  gawsie  Scots  pint,  and  hardly 
a mutchkin,  boil’d  wi’  sope  and  hartshorn  draps,  and 
toomed  doun  the  creature’s  throat  wi’  ane  whom.  Ye 
might  try  it  on  the  bauson-faced  year-auld  quey;  an  it 
does  nae  gude,  it  can  do  nae  ill. — She  was  a kind 
woman,  and  seemed  skeely  about  horned  beasts.  When 
I reach  Lunnon,  I intend  to  gang  to  our  cousin  Mistress 
Glass,  the  tobacconist,  at  the  sign  o’  the  Thistle,  wha 
is  so  ceevil  as  to  send  you  down  your  spleuchan-fu’  anes 
a-year;  and  as  she  must  be  weel  kend  in  Lunnon,  I 
doubt  not  easily  to  find  out  where  she  lives.” 

Being  seduced  into  betraying  our  heroine’s  con- 
fidence thus  far,  we  will  stretch  our  communication 
a step  beyond,  and  impart  to  the  reader  her  letter 
to  her  lover. 

“Mr.  Beuben  Butler,  — Hoping  this  will  find 
you  better,  this  comes  to  say,  that  I have  reached  this 
great  town  safe,  and  am  not  wearied  with  walking,  but 
the  better  for  it.  And  I have  seen  many  things  which 
I trust  to  tell  you  one  day,  also  the  muckle  kirk  of  this 
place ; and  all  around  the  city  are  mills,  whilk  havena 
muckle- wheels  nor  mill-dams,  but  gang  by  the  wind 
— strange  to  behold.  Ane  miller  asked  me  to  gang  in 
and  see  it  work,  but  I wad  not,  for  I am.  not  come  to 
the  south  to  make  acquaintance  with  strangers.  I 
keep  the  straight  road,  and  just  beck  if  ony  bod}?' 
speaks  to  me  ceevilly,  and  answers  naebody  with  the 
tong  but  women  of  mine  ain  sect.  I wish,  Mr.  Butler, 
I kend  ony  thing  that  wad  mak  ye  weel,  for  they  hae 
mair  medicines  in  this  town  of  York  than  wad  cure  a’ 
Scotland,  and  surety  some  of  them  wad  be  gude  for 
your  complaints.  If  ye  had  a kindly  motherly  body  to 
nurse  ye,  and  no  to  let  ye  waste  yoursell  wi’  reading  — 
whilk  ye  read  mair  than  eneugh  with  the  bairns  in  the 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN. 


51 


schule — and  to  gie  ye  warm  milk  in  the  morning,  I 
wad  be  mair  easy  for  ye.  Dear  Mr.  Butler,  keep  a 
good  heart,  for  we  are  in  the  hands  of  Ane  that  kens 
better  what  is  glide  for  us  than  we  ken  what  is  for  our- 
sells.  I hae  nae  doubt  to  do  that  for  which  I am  come 
— I canna  doubt  it  — I winna  think  to  doubt  it  — 
because,  if  I haena  full  assurance,  how  shall  I bear 
myself  with  earnest  entreaties  in  the  great  folk’s  pres- 
ence? But  to  ken  that  ane’s  purpose  is  right,  and  to 
make  their  heart  strong,  is  the  way  to  get  through  the 
warst  day’s  darg.  The  bairns’  rime  says,  the  warst 
blast  of  the  borrowing  days  1 couldna  kill  the  three 
silly  poor  hog-lambs  (b) . And  if  it  be  God’s  pleasure, 
we  that  are  sindered  in  sorrow  may  meet  again  in  joy, 
even  on  this  hither  side  of  Jordan.  I dinna  hid  ye 
mind  what  I said  at  our  partin’  anent  my  poor  father 
and  that  misfortunate  lassie,  for  I ken  you  will  do  sae 
for  the  sake  of  Christian  charity,  whilk  is  mair  than 
the  entreaties  of  her  that  is  your  servant  to  command, 

“Jeanie  Deans.” 

This  letter  also  had  a postscript : — 

“Dear  Reuben,  If  ye  think  that  it  wad  hae  been 
right  for  me  to  have  said  mair  and  kinder  things  to  ye, 
just  think  that  I hae  written  sae,  since  I am  sure  that 
I wish  a’  that  is  kind  and  right  to  ye  and  by  ye.  Ye 
will  think  I am  turned  waster,  for  I wear  clean  hose 
and  shoon  every  day;  but  it’s  the  fashion  here  for 
decent  bodies,  and  ilka  land  has  its  ain  land-law. 
Ower  and  aboon  a’,  if  laughing  days  were  e’er  to  come 
back  again  till  us,  ye  wad  laugh  weel  to  see  my  round 
face  at  the  far  end  of  a strae  bon-grace , that  looks  as 

1 The  three  last  days  of  March,  old  style,  are  called  the  Bor- 
rowing Days ; for  as  they  are  remarked  to  be  unusually  stormy, 
it  is  feigned  that  March  had  borrowed  them  from  April,  to  extend 
the  sphere  of  his  rougher  sway.  The  rhyme  on  the  subject  is 
quoted  in  Leyden's  edition  of  the  Complaynt  of  Scotland. 


52 


TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 


muckle  and  round  as  the  middell  aisle  in  Libberton 
Kirk.  But  it  sheds  the  sun  weel  aff,  and  keeps  un- 
ceevil  folk  frae  staring  as  if  ane  were  a worrycow.  I 
sail  tell  ye  by  writ  how  I come  on  wB  the  Duke  of 
Argyle,  when  I won  up  to  Lunnon.  Direct  a line,  to 
say  how  ye  are,  to  me,  to  the  charge  of  Mrs.  Margaret 
Glass,  tobacconist,  at  the  sign  of  the  Thistle,  Lunnon, 
whilk,  if  it  assures  me  of  your  health,  will  make  my 
mind  sae  muckle  easier.  Excuse  bad  spelling  and  writ- 
ing, as  I have  ane  ill  pen.” 

The  orthography  of  these  epistles  may  seem  to 
the  southron  to  require  a better  apology  than  the 
letter  expresses,  though  a bad  pen  was  the  excuse 
of  a certain  Galwegian  laird  for  bad  spelling ; but, 
on  behalf  of  the  heroine,  I would  have  them  to 
know,  that,  thanks  to  the  care  of  Butler,  Jeanie 
Deans  wrote  and  spelled  fifty  times  better  than 
half  the  women  of  rank  in  Scotland  at  that  period, 
whose  strange  orthography  and  singular  diction 
form  the  strongest  contrast  to  the  good  sense  which 
their  correspondence  usually  intimates. 

For  the  rest,  in  the  tenor  of  these  epistles,  Jeanie 
expressed,  perhaps,  more  hopes,  a firmer  courage, 
and  better  spirits,  than  she  actually  felt.  But  this 
was  with  the  amiable  idea  of  relieving  her  father 
and  lover  from  apprehensions  on  her  account,  which, 
she  was  sensible  must  greatly  add  to  their  other 
troubles.  “ If  they  think  me  weel,  and  like  to  do 
weel,”  said  the  poor  pilgrim  to  herself,  “ my  father 
will  be  kinder  to  Effie,  and  Butler  will  be  kinder  to 
himself.  For  I ken  weel  that  they  will  think  mair 
o’  me  than  I do  o’  mysell.” 

Accordingly,  she  sealed  her  letters  carefully,  and 
put  them  into  the  post-office  with  her  own  hand, 
after  many  enquiries  concerning  the  time  in  which 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTIIIAN. 


53 


they  were  likely  to  reach  Edinburgh.  When  this 
duty  was  performed,  she  readily  accepted  her  land- 
lady’s pressing  invitation  to  dine  with  her,  and 
remain  till  the  next  morning.  The  hostess,  as  we 
have  said,  was  her  countrywoman,  and  the  eager* 
ness  with  which  Scottish  people  meet,  communi- 
cate, and,  to  the  extent  of  their  power,  assist  each 
other,  although  it  is  often  objected  to  us  as  a preju- 
dice  and  narrowness  of  sentiment,  seems,  on  the 
contrary,  to  arise  from  a most  justifiable  and  hon- 
ourable feeling  of  patriotism,  combined  with  a con- 
viction, which,  if  undeserved,  would  long  since  have 
been  confuted  by  experience,  that  the  habits  and 
principles  of  the  nation  are  a sort  of  guarantee  for 
the  character  of  the  individual.  At  any  rate,  if 
the  extensive  influence  of  this  national  partiality 
be  considered  as  an  additional  tie,  binding  man  to 
man,  and  calling  forth  the  good  offices  of  such  as 
can  render  them  to  the  countryman  who  happens 
to  need  them,  we  think  it  must  be  found  to  exceed, 
as  an  active  and  efficient  motive  to  generosity,  that 
more  impartial  and  wider  principle  of  general  be- 
nevolence, which  we  have  sometimes  seen  pleaded 
as  an  excuse  for  assisting  no  individual  whatever. 

Mrs.  Bickerton,  lady  of  the  ascendant  of  the 
Seven  Stars,  in  the  Castle-gate,  York,  was  deeply 
infected  with  the  unfortunate  prejudices  of  her 
country.  Indeed,  she  displayed  so  much  kindness 
to  Jeanie  Deans,  (because  she  herself,  being  a Merse 
woman,  marched  with  Mid-Lothian,  in  which  Jeanie 
was  born,)  showed  such  motherly  regard  to  her, 
and  such  anxiety  for  her  farther  progress,  that 
Jeanie  thought  herself  safe,  though  by  temper  suffi- 
ciently cautious,  in  communicating  her  whole  story 
to  her. 


54 


TALES  OE  MY  LANDLORD, 


Mrs.  Bickerton  raised  her  hands  and  eyes  at  the 
recital,  and  exhibited  much  wonder  and  pity.  But 
she  also  gave  some  effectual  good  advice. 

She  required  to  know  the  strength  of  Jeanie’s 
purse,  reduced  by  her  deposit  at  Libberton,  and  the 
necessary  expense  of  her  journey,  to  about  fifteen 
pounds.  “This,”  she  said,  “would  do  very  well, 
providing  she  could  carry  it  a’  safe  to  London.” 

“ Safe  ? ” answered  Jeanie  ; “ I’se  warrant  my 
carrying  it  safe,  bating  the  needful  expenses  ” 

“ Ay,  but  highwaymen,  lassie,”  said  Mrs.  Bicker- 
ton  ; “ for  ye  are  come  into  a more  civilized,  that  is 
to  say,  a more  roguish  country  than  the  north,  and 
how  ye  are  to  get  forward,  I do  not  profess  to  know. 

If  ye  could  wait  here  eight  days,  our  waggons  would 
go  up,  and  I would  recommend  you  to  Joe  Broad- 
wheel,  who  would  see  you  safe  to  the  Swan  and  ; 
two  Necks.  And  dinna  sneeze  at  Joe,  if  he  should 
be  for  drawing  up  wi*  you,”  (continued  Mrs,  Bicker- 
ton,  her  acquired  English  mingling  with  her  national 
or  original  dialect,)  “ he’s  a handy  boy,  and  a wan  ter, 
and  no  lad  better  thought  o’  on  the  road ; and  the 
English  make  good  husbands  enough,  witness  my 
poor  man,  Moses  Bickerton,  as  is'  i’  the  kirkyard.” 
Jeanie  hastened  to  say,  that  she  could  not  possibly 
wait  for  the  setting  forth  of  Joe  Broad  wheel ; being 
internally  by  no  means  gratified  with  the  idea  of  I 
becoming  the  object  of  his  attention  during  the 
journey. 

“ Aweel,  lass,”  answered  the  good  landlady,  “ then 
thou  must  pickle  in  thine  ain  poke-nook,  and  buckle 
thy  girdle  thine  ain  gate.  But  take  my  advice,  and 
hide  thy  gold  in  thy  stays,  and  keep  a piece  or  two 
and  some  silver,  in  case  thou  be’st  spoke  withal; 
for  there’s  as  wud  lads  haunt  within  a day’s  walk 


THE  HEART  OE  MID-LOTHIAN. 


55 


from  hence,  as  on  the  Braes  of  Doun  in  Perthshire. 
And,  lass,  thou  maunna  gang  staring  through  Lun- 
non,  asking  wha  kens  Mrs.  Glass  at  the  sign  o’  the 
Thistle ; marry,  they  would  laugh  thee  to  scorn. 
But  gang  thou  to  this  honest  man,”  and  she  put  a 
direction  into  Jeanie’s  hand,  “ he  kens  maist  part 
of  the  sponsible  Scottish  folk  in  the  city,  and  he 
will  find  out  your  friend  for  thee.” 

Jeanie  took  the  little  introductory  letter  with 
sincere  thanks ; but,  something  alarmed  on  the  sub- 
ject of  the  highway  robbers,  her  mind  recurred  to 
what  Ratcliffe  had  mentioned  to  her,  and  briefly 
relating  the  circumstances  which  placed  a document 
so  extraordinary  in  her  hands,  she  put  the  paper  he 
had  given  her  into  the  hand  of  Mrs.  Bickerton. 

The  Lady  of  the  Seven  Stars  did  not,  indeed, 
ring  a bell,  because  such  was  not  the  fashion  of 
the  time,  but  she  whistled  on  a silver-call,  which 
was  hung  by  her  side,  and  a tight  serving-maiden 
entered  the  room. 

“ Tell  Dick  Ostler  to  come  here,”  said  Mrs. 
Bickerton. 

Dick  Ostler  accordingly  made  his  appearance  ; — a 
queer,  knowing,  shambling  animal,  with  a hatchet- 
face,  a squint,  a game-arm,  and  a limp. 

“ Dick  Ostler,”  said  Mrs.  Bickerton,  in  a tone  of 
authority  that  showed  she  was  (at  least  by  adop- 
tion) Yorkshire  too,  “ thou  knowest  most  people 
and  most  things  o’  the  road  ” 

“ Eye,  eye,  God  help  me,  mistress,”  said  Dick, 
shrugging  his  shoulders  betwixt  a repentant  and 
a knowing  expression  — “ Eye  ! I ha’  know’d  a 
thing  or  twa  i’  ma  day,  mistress.”  He  looked  sharp 
and  laughed  — looked  grave  and  sighed,  as  one  who 
was  prepared  to  take  the  matter  either  way. 


56 


TALES  OE  MY  LANDLORD. 


4;  Kenst  thou  this  wee  bit  paper  amang  the  rest, 
man  ? ” said  Mrs.  Bickerton,  handing  him  the  pro- 
tection which  Ratcliffe  had  given  Jeanie  Deans. 

When  Dick  had  looked  at  the  paper,  he  winked 
with  one  eye,  extended  his  grotesque  mouth  from 
ear  to  ear,  like  a navigable  canal,  scratched  his  head 
powerfully,  and  then  said,  “ Ken  ? — ay  — maybe 
we  ken  summat,  an  it  werena  for  harm  to  him, 
mistress.” 

“ None  in  the  world,”  said  Mrs.  Bickerton ; “ only 
a dram  of  Hollands  to  thyself,  man,  an  thou  will’t 
speak.” 

“ Why,  then,”  said  Dick,  giving  the  head-band  of 
his  breeches  a knowing  hoist  with  one  hand,  and 
kicking  out  one  foot  behind  him  to  accommodate 
the  adjustment  of  that  important  habiliment,  “I 
dares  to  say  the  pass  will  be  kend  weel  eneugh  on 
the  road,  an  that  be  all.” 

“But  what  sort  of  a lad  was  he?”  said  Mrs.  ■ 
Bickerton,  winking  to  Jeanie,  as  proud  of  her 
knowing  ostler. 

“ Why,  what  ken  I?  — Jim  the  Rat  — why  he 
was  Cock  o’  the  North  within  this  twelmonth  — he 
and  Scotch  Wilson,  Handie  Dandie,  as  they  called 
him  — but  he’s  been  out  o’  this  country  a while,  as 
I rackon ; but  ony  gentleman,  as  keeps  the  road  o’  1 
this  side  Stamford,  will  respect  Jim’s  pass.” 

Without  asking  farther  questions,  the  landlady 
filled  Dick  Ostler  a bumper  of  Hollands.  He 
ducked  with  his  head  and  shoulders,  scraped  with 
his  more  advanced  hoof,  bolted  the  alcohol,  to  use 
the  learned  phrase,  and  withdrew  to  his  own 
domains. 

“I  would  advise  thee,  Jeanie,”  said  Mrs.  Bicker- 
ton, “ an  thou  meetest  with  ugly  customers  o’  the 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN.  57 

road,  to  show  them  this  bit  paper,  for  it  will  serve 
thee,  assure  thyself.” 

A neat  little  supper  concluded  the  evening.  The 
exported  Scotswoman,  Mrs.  Bickerton  by  name,  eat 
heartily  of  one  or  two  seasoned  dishes,  drank  some 
sound  old  ale,  and  a glass  of  stiff  negus ; while  she 
gave  Jeanie  a history  of  her  gout,  admiring  how  it 
was  possible  that  she,  whose  fathers  and  mothers 
for  many  generations  had  been  farmers  in  Lammer- 
muir,  could  have  come  by  a disorder  so  totally  un- 
known to  them.  Jeanie  did  not  choose  to  offend 
her  friendly  landlady,  by  speaking  her  mind  on  the 
probable  origin  of  this  complaint ; but  she  thought 
on  the  flesh-pots  of  Egypt,  and,  in  spite  of  all  en- 
treaties to  better  fare,  made  her  evening  meal  upon 
vegetables,  with  a glass  of  fair  water. 

Mrs.  Bickerton  assured  her,  that  the  acceptance 
of  any  reckoning  was  entirely  out  of  the  question, 
furnished  her  with  credentials  to  her  correspondent 
in  London,  and  to  several  inns  upon  the  road  where 
she  had  some  influence  or  interest,  reminded  her 
of  the  precautions  she  should  adopt  for  concealing 
her  money,  and  as  she  was  to  depart  early  in  the 
morning,  took  leave  of  her  very  affectionately,  tak- 
ing her  word  that  she  would  visit  her  on  her  re- 
turn to  Scotland,  and  tell  her  how  she  had  managed, 
and  that  summum  bonum  for  a gossip,  “ all  how  and 
about  it.”  This  Jeanie  faithfully  promised. 


CHAPTER  V. 


.0 


M 


And  Need  and  Misery,  Vice  and  Danger,  bind, 
In  sad  alliance,  each  degraded  mind. 


As  our  traveller  set  out  early  on  the  ensuing 
morning  to  prosecute  her  journey,  and  was  in  the 
act  of  leaving  the  inn-yard,  Dick  Ostler,  who  either 
had  risen  early  or  neglected  to  go  to  bed,  either 
circumstance  being  equally  incident  to  his  calling, 
holloaed  out  after  her,  — “ The  top  of  the  morning 
to  you,  Moggie ! Have  a care  o’  Gunnerby  Hill, 
young  one.  Robin  Hood’s  dead  and  gwone,  but 
there  be  takers  yet  in  the  vale  of  Bever.”  Jeanie 
looked  at  him  as  if  to  request  a further  explana- 
tion, but,  with  a leer,  a shuffle,  and  a shrug,  inimi- 
table, (unless  by  Emery,)  (c)  Dick  turned  again  to 
the  raw-boned  steed  which  he  was  currying,  and 
sung  as  he  employed  the  comb  and  brush,  — 

“ Robin  Hood  was  a yeoman  good, 

And  his  bow  was  of  trusty  yew  ; 

And  if  Robin  said  stand  on  the  King’s  lea-land* 

Pray,  why  should  not  we  say  so  too  V 9 

Jeanie  pursued  her  journey  without  farther  en- 
quiry, for  there  was  nothing  in  Dick’s  manner  that 
inclined  her  to  prolong  their  conference.  A painful 
day’s  journey  brought  her  to  Ferrybridge,  the  best 
inn,  then  and  since,  upon  the  great  northern  road ; 
and  an  introduction  from  Mrs.  Bickerton,  added  to 
her  own  simple  and  quiet  manners,  so  propitiated  the 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN. 


59 


landlady  of  the  Swan  in  her  favour,  that  the  good 
dame  procured  her  the  convenient  accommodation 
of  a pillion  and  post-horse  then  returning  to  Tux- 
ford,  so  that  she  accomplished,  upon  the  second  day 
after  leaving  York,  the  longest  journey  she  had  yet 
made.  She  was  a good  deal  fatigued  by  a mode  of 
travelling  to  which  she  was  less  accustomed  than  to 
walking,  and  it  was  considerably  later  than  usual 
on  the  ensuing  morning  that  she  felt  herself  able 
to  resume  her  pilgrimage.  At  noon  the  hundred- 
armed Trent,  and  the  blackened  ruins  of  Newark 
Castle,  demolished  in  the  great  civil  war,  lay  before 
her.  It  may  easily  be  supposed,  that  Jeanie  had 
no  curiosity  to  make  antiquarian  researches,  but, 
entering  the  town,  went  straight  to  the  inn  to 
which  she  had  been  directed  at  Ferrybridge.  While 
she  procured  some  refreshment,  she  observed  the 
girl  who  brought  it  to  her,  looked  at  her  several 
times  with  fixed  and  peculiar  interest,  and  at  last, 
to  her  infinite  surprise,  enquired  if  her  name  was 
not  Deans,  and  if  she  was  not  a Scotchwoman,  going 
to  London  upon  justice  business.  Jeanie,  with  all 
her  simplicity  of  character,  had  some  of  the  caution 
of  her  country,  and,  according  to  Scottish  universal 
custom,  she  answered  the  question  by  another,  re- 
questing the  girl  would  her  tell  why  she  asked  these 
questions  ? 

The  Maritornes  of  the  Saracen’s  head,  Newark, 
replied,  “ Two  women  had  passed  that  morning, 
who  had  made  enquiries  after  one  Jeanie  Deans, 
travelling  to  London  on  such  an  errand,  and  could 
scarce  be  persuaded  that  she  had  not  passed  on.” 

Much  surprised,  and  somewhat  alarmed,  (for 
what  is  inexplicable  is  usually  alarming,)  Jeanie 
questioned  the  wench  about  the  particular  appear- 


6o 


TALES  OE  MY  LANDLORD. 


ance  of  these  two  women,  but  could  only  learn  that 
the  one  was  aged,  and  the  other  young  ; that  the 
latter  was  the  taller,  and  that  the  former  spoke 
most,  and  seemed  to  maintain  an  authority  over  her 
companion,  and  that  both  spoke  with  the  Scottish 
accent. 

This  conveyed  no  information  whatever,  and 
with  an  indescribable  presentiment  of  evil  designed 
towards  her,  Jeanie  adopted  the  resolution  of  taking 
post-horses  for  the  next  stage.  In  this,  however, 
she  could  not  be  gratified  ; some  accidental  circum- 
stances had  occasioned  what  is  called  a run  upon 
the  road,  and  the  landlord  could  not  accommodate 
her  with  a guide  and  horses.  After  waiting  some 
time,  in  hopes  that  a pair  of  horses  that  had  gone 
southward  would  return  in  time  for  her  use,  she 
at  length,  feeling  ashamed  of  her  own  pusillanim- 
ity, resolved  to  prosecute  her  journey  in  her  usual 
manner.  1 

“ It  was  all  plain  road,”  she  was  assured,  “ ex-  ! 
cept  a high  mountain,  called  Gunnerby  Hill,  about 
three  miles  from  Grantham,  which  was  her  stage 
for  the  night.” 

“ I’m  glad  to  hear  there’s  a hill,”  said  Jeanie, 

“ for  baith  my  sight  and  my  very  feet  are  weary 
o’  sic  tracts  o’  level  ground  — it  looks  a’  the  way  1 
between  this  and  York  as  if  a’  the  land  had  been 
trenched  and  levelled,  whilk  is  very  wearisome  to 
my  Scotch  een.  When  I lost  sight  of  a muckle 
blue  hill  they  ca’  Ingleboro’,  I thought  I hadna  a 
friend  left  in  this  strange  land.” 

“ As  for  the  matter  of  that,  young  woman,”  said 
mine  host,  “ an  you  be  so  fond  o’  hill,  I carena  an 
thou  couldst  carry  Gunnerby  away  with  thee  in  thy 
lap,  for  it’s  a murder  to  post-horses.  But  here’s  to 


LTHE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN.  61 

journey,  and  mayst  tliou  win  well  through  it, 
for  thou  is  a bold  and  a canny  lass.” 

So  saying,  he  took  a powerful  pull  at  a solemn 
tankard  of  home-brewed  ale. 

“ I »pe  there  is  nae  bad  company  on  the  road, 
sir  ? ” «id  Jeanie. 

“ Wm,  when  it’s  clean  without  them  I’ll  thatch 
Groby  Jpool  wi’  pancakes.  But  there  arena  sae 
mony  now ; and  since  they  hae  lost  Jim  the  Rat, 
they  hold  together  no  better  than  the  men  of 
Marsham  when  they  lost  their  common.  Take  a 
drop  ere  thougoest,”  he  concluded,  offering  her  the 
tankard ; “ thou  wilt  get  naething  at  night  save 
Grantham  gruel,  nine  grots  and  a gallon  of  water.” 
Jeanie  courteously  declined  the  tankard,  and  en- 
quired what  was  her  “lawing?” 

“ Thy  lawing  ? Heaven  help  thee,  wench  ! what 
ca’st  thou  that  ? ” 

“ It  is  — I was  wanting  to  ken  what  was  to  pay,” 
replied  Jeanie. 

“ Pay  ? Lord  help  thee  ! — why  nought,  woman 
— we  hae  drawn  no  liquor  but  a gill  o’  beer,  and 
the  Saracen’s  Head  can  spare  a mouthful  o’  meat 
to  a stranger  like  o’  thee,  that  cannot  speak  Chris- 
tian language.  So  here’s  to  thee  once  more.  The 
same  again,  quoth  Mark  of  Bellgrave,”  and  he  took 
another  profound  pull  at  the  tankard. 

The  travellers  who  have  visited  Newark  more 
lately,  will  not  fail  to  remember  the  remarkably 
civil  and  gentlemanly  manners  of  the  person  who 
now  keeps  the  principal  inn  there,  and  may  find 
some  amusement  in  contrasting  them  with  those  of 
his  more  rough  predecessor.  But  we  believe  it  will 
be  found  that  the  polish  has  worn  off  none  of  the 
real  worth  of  the  metal. 


62 


TALES  OE  MY  LANDLORD. 


I 

Taking  leave  of  her  Lincolnshire  Gaius,  Jeanie 
resumed  her  solitary  walk,  and  was  somewhat 
alarmed  when  evening  and  twilight  overtook  her 
in  the  open  ground  which  extends  to  the  foot  of 
Gunnerby  Hill,  and  is  intersected  with  paries  of 
copse  and  with  swampy  spots.  The  extensjBi  com- 
mons on  the  north  road,  most  of  which  fle  now 
enclosed,  and  in  general  a relaxed  state  o»  police, 
exposed  the  traveller  to  a highway  robbery  in  a 
degree  which  is  now  unknown,  excepting  in  the  ; 
immediate  vicinity  of  the  metropolis.  Aware  of  this  i 
circumstance,  Jeanie  mended  her  pace  when  she 
heard  the  trampling  of  a horse  behind,  and  instinct- 
ively drew  to  one  side  of  the  road,  as  if  to  allow  as 
much  room  for  the  rider  to  pass  as  might  be  possi- 
ble. When  the  animal  came  up,  she  found  that  it 
was  bearing  two  women,  the  one  placed  on  a side- 
saddle, the  other  on  a pillion  behind  her,  as  may; 
still  occasionally  he  seen  in  England. 

“Abraw  gude  night  to  ye,  Jeanie  Deans,”  saidji 
the  foremost  female,  as  the  horse  passed  our 
heroine  ; “ What  think  ye  o’  yon  bonny  hill  yonder, 
lifting  its  brow  to  the  moon  ? Trow  ye  yon’s  the 
gate  to  heaven,  that  ye  are  sae  fain  of  ? — maybe- 
we  may  win  there  the  night  yet,  God  sain  us.; 
though  our  minny  here’s  rather  driegh  in  the 
upgang.” 

The  speaker  kept  changing  her  seat  in  the  saddled 
and  half-stopping  the  horse,  as  she  brought  hen 
body  round,  while  the  woman  that  sate  behind  her 
on  the  pillion  seemed  to  urge  her  on,  in  words  which 
Jeanie  heard  but  imperfectly. 

“ Haud  your  tongue,  ye  moon-raised  b ' 

what  is  your  business  with , or  with  heaven  or 

hell  either?” 


THE  HEART  OE  MID-LOTII IAN. 


63 


“Troth,  mither,  no  muckle  wi’  heaven,  I doubt, 
considering  wha  I carry  ahint  me  — and  as  for  hell, 
it  will  fight  its  ain  battle  at  its  ain  time,  I’se  be 
bound.  — Come,  naggie,  trot  awa,  man,  an  as  thou 
wert  a broomstick,  for  a witch  rides  thee  — 

4 With  my  curtch  on  my  foot,  and  my  shoe  on  my  hand, 

I glance  like  the  wildfire  through  brugh  and  through  land*’  ” 

The  tramp  of  the  horse,  and  the  increasing  dis- 
tance, drowned  the  rest  of  her  song,  but  Jeanie 
heard  for  some  time  the  inarticulate  sounds  ring 
alonqf  the  waste. 

Our  pilgrim  remained  stupefied  with  undefined 
apprehensions.  The  being  named  by  her  name  in 
so  wild  a manner,  and  in  a strange  country,  with- 
out further  explanation  or  communing,  by  a person 
who  thus  strangely  flitted  forward  and  disappeared 
before  her,  came  near  to  the  supernatural  sounds 
in  Comus  : — 

“ The  airy  tongues,  which  syllable  men’s  names 
On  sands,  and  shores,  and  desert  wildernesses.” 

And  although  widely  different  in  features,  deport- 
ment, and  rank,  from  the  Lady  of  that  enchanting 
masque,  the  continuation  of  the  passage  may  be 
happily  applied  to  Jeanie  Deans  upon  this  singular 
alarm  : — 

“ These  thoughts  may  startle  well,  but  not  astound 
The  virtuous  mind,  that  ever  walks  attended 
By  a strong  siding  champion- — Conscience.” 

In  fact,  it  was,  with  the  recollection  of  the  affec- 
tionate and  dutiful  errand  on  which  she  was  en- 
gaged, her  right,  if  such  a word  could  be  applicable, 
to  expect  protection  in  a task  so  meritorious.  She 


64  TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 

had  not  advanced  much  farther,  with  a mind  calmed 
by  these  reflections,  when  she  was  disturbed,  by  a 
new  and  more  instant  subject  of  terror.  Two  men, 
who  had  been  lurking  among  some  copse,  started 
up  as  she  advanced,  and  met  her  on  the  road  in  a 
menacing  manner.  “ Stand  and  deliver,’’  said  one 
of  them,  a short  stout  fellow,  in  a smock-frock,  such 
as  are  worn  by  waggoners. 

“ The  woman,”  said  the  other,  a tall  thin  figure, 

“ does  not  understand  the  words  of  action.  — Your 
money,  my  precious,  or  your  life !” 

“ I have  but  very  little  money,  gentlemen,”  said 
poor  Jeanie,  tendering  that  portion  which  she  had 
separated  from  her  principal  stock,  and  kept  apart 
for  such  an  emergency  ; “but  if  you  are  resolved  to 
have  it,  to  be  sure  you  must  have  it.” 

“ This  won’t  do,  my  girl.  D — n me,  if  it  shall 
pass  ! ” said  the  shorter  ruffian  ; “ do  ye  think  gen- 
tlemen are  to  hazard  their  lives  on  the  ro^d  to  be 
cheated  in  this  way?  We’ll  have  every  farthing 
you  have  got,  or  we  will  strip  you  to  the  skin, 
curse  me.” 

His  companion,  who  seemed  to  have  something 
like  compassion  for  the  horror  which  Jeanie’s  coun- 
tenance now  expressed,  said,  “No,  no,  Tom,  this 
is  one  of  the  precious  sisters,  and  we’ll  take  her 
word,  for  once,  without  putting  her  to  the  strip- 
ping proof.  — Hark  ye,  my  lass,  if  you’ll  look  up  to 
heaven,  and  say,  this  is  the  last  penny  you  have 
about  ye,  why,  hang  it,  we’ll  let  you  pass.” 

“I  am  not  free/'  answered  Jeanie,  “ to  say  what 
I have  about  me,  gentlemen,  for  there’s  life  and 
death  depends  on  my  journey ; but  if  you  leave 
me  as  much  as  finds  me  in  bread  and  water,  1 11  be 
satisfied,  and  thank  you,  and  pray  for  you. 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN. 


65 


“ D — n your  prayers  ! ” said  the  shorter  fellow, 
"'that’s  a coin  that  won’t  pass  with  us ; ” and  at  the 
same  time  made  a motion  to  seize  her. 

“ Stay,  gentlemen,”  Ratcliffe’s  pass  suddenly  oc- 
curring to  her ; “ perhaps  you  know  this  paper.” 
"What  the  devil  is  she  after  now,  Frank  ? ” said 
the  more  savage  ruffian  — “ Do  you  look  at  it,  for, 
d — n me  if  I could  read  it,  if  it  were  for  the  bene- 
fit of  my  clergy,” 

“ This  is  a jark  from  Jim  Ratcliffe,”  said  the 
taller,  having  looked  at  the  bit  of  paper.  "The 
wench  must  pass  by  our  cutter’s  law.” 

“ I say  no,”  answered  his  companion ; “ Eat  has 
left  the  lay,  and  turned  bloodhound,  they  say.” 

"We  may  need  a good  turn  from  him  all  the 
same,”  said  the  taller  ruffian  again. 

" But  what  are  we  to  do  then  ? ” said  the  shorter 
man.  — "We  promised,  you  know,  to  strip  the 
wench,  and  send  her  begging  back  to  her  own 
beggarly  country,  and  now  you  are  for  letting  her 
go  on.” 

" I did  not  say  that,”  said  the  other  fellow,  and 
whispered  to  his  companion,  who  replied,  "Be  alive 
about  it  then,  and  don’t  keep  chattering  till  some 
travellers  come  up  to  nab  us.” 

" You  must  follow  us  off  the  road,  young  woman,” 
said  the  taller. 

"For  the  love  of  God!”  exclaimed  Jeanie,  "as 
you  were  born  of  woman,  dinna  ask  me  to  leave 
the  road ! rather  take  all  I have  in  the  world.” 

" What  the  devil  is  the  wench  afraid  of  ? ” said 
the  other  fellow.  " I tell  you  you  shall  come  to 
no  harm ; but  if  you  will  not  leave  the  road  and 
come  with  us,  d — n me,  but  I’ll  beat  your  brains 
out  where  you  stand.” 


66 


TALES  OE  MY  LANDLORD. 


“Thou  art  a rough  bear,  Tom,”  said  his  com- 
panion.  — “ An  ye  touch  her,  I’ll  give  ye  a shake 
by  the  collar  shall  make  the  Leicester  beans  rattle 
in  thy  guts.— Never  mind  him,  girl;  I will  not  al- 
low him  to  lay  a finger  on  you,  if  you  walk  quietly 
on  with  us ; but  if  you  keep  jabbering  there,  d — n 
me,  but  I’ll  leave  him  to  settle  it  with  you.” 

This  threat  conveyed  all  that  is  terrible  to  the 
imagination  of  poor  Jeanie,  who  saw  in  him  that 
“was  of  milder  mood”  her  only  protection  from 
the  most  brutal  treatment.  She,  therefore,  not  only 
followed  him,  but  even  held  him  by  the  sleeve, 
lest  he  should  escape  from  her ; and  the  fellow, 
hardened  as  he  was,  seemed  something  touched 
by  these  marks  of  confidence,  and  repeatedly  as- 
sured her,  that  he  would  suffer  her  to  receive  no 
harm. 

They  conducted  their  prisoner  in  a direction 
leading  more  and  more  from  the  public  road,  but 
she  observed  that ' they  kept  a sort  of  track  or  by- 
path, which  relieved  her  from  part  of  her  apprehen- 
sions, which  would  have  been  greatly  increased  had 
they  not  seemed  to  follow  a determined  and  ascer- 
tained route.  After  about  half  an  hour’s  walking, 
all  three  in  profound  silence,  they  approached  an 
old  barn,  which  stood  on  the  edge  of  some  culti- 
vated ground,  but  remote  from  every  thing  like  a 
habitation.  It  was  itself,  however,  tenanted,  for 
there  was  light  in  the  windows. 


One  of  the  footpads  scratched  at  the  door,  which 
was  opened  by  a female,  and  they  entered  with  their 
unhappy  prisoner.  An  old  woman,  who  was  pre- 
paring food  by  the  assistance  of  a stifling  fire  of 
lighted  charcoal,  asked  them,  in  the  name  of  the 
devi],  what  they  brought  the  wench  there  for,  and 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN.  67 

why  they  did  not  strip  her  and  turn  her  abroad  on 
the  common  ? 

“ Come,  come,  Mother  Blood/1  said  the  tall  man, 
“ weTl  do  wliat's  right  to  oblige  you,  and  we’ll  do 
no  more  ; we  are  bad  enough,  but  not  such  as  you 
would  make  us  — devils  incarnate.” 

“ She  has  got  a jark  from  Jim  Ratcliffe,”  said 
the  short  fellow,  “ and  Frank  here  won’t  hear  of 
our  putting  her  through  the  mill.” 

“ No,  that  will  I not,  by  G — d ! ” answered 
Frank;  “but  if  old  Mother  Blood  could  keep  her 
here  for  a little  while,  or  send  her  back  to  Scotland, 
without  hurting  her,  why,  I see  no  harm  in  that  — 
not  I.” 

“I’ll  tell  you  what,  Frank  Levitt,”  said  the  old 
woman,  “ if  you  call  me  Mother  Blood  again,  I’ll 
paint  this  gully  ” (and  she  held  a knife  up  as  if 
about  to  make  good  her  threat)  “ in  the  best  blood 
in  your  body,  my  bonny  boy.” 

“ The  price  of  ointment  must  be  up  in  the  north,” 
said  Frank,  “ that  puts  Mother  Blood  so  much  out 
of  humour.” 

Without  a moment’s  hesitation  the  fury  darted 
her  knife  at  him  with  the  vengeful  dexterity  of  a 
wild  Indian.  As  he  was  on  his  guard,  he  avoided 
the  missile  by  a sudden  .motion  of  his  head,  but  it 
whistled  past  his  ear,  and  stuck  deep  in  the  clay 
wall  of  a partition  behind. 

“Come,  come,  mother,”  said  the  robber,  seizing 
her  by  both  wrists,  “ I shall  teach  you  who’s  mas- 
ter ; ” and  so  saying,  he  forced  the  hag  backwards 
by  main  force,  who  strove  vehemently  until  she 
sunk  on  a bunch  of  straw,  and  then  letting  go  her 
hands,  he  held  up  his  finger  towards  her  in  the 
menacing  posture  by  which  a maniac  is  intimidated 


58  TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 

by  his  keeper.  It  appeared  to  produce  the  desired 
effect;  for  she  did  not  attempt  to  rise  from  the 
seat  on  which  he  had  placed  her,  or  to  resume  any 
measures  of  actual  violence,  but  wrung  her  withered 
hands  with  impotent  rage,  and  brayed  and  howled 
like  a demoniac. 

“ I will  keep  my  promise  with  you,  you  old  de- 
vil,1” said  Frank  ; “the  wench  shall  not  go  forward 
on  the  London  road,  but  I will  not  have  you  touch 
a hair  of  her  head,  if  it  were  but  for  your  insolence  ” 

This  intimation  seemed  to  compose  in  some  de-  | 
gree  the  vehement  passion  of  the  old  hag ; and  ! 
while  her  exclamations  and  howls  sunk  into  a low, 
maundering,  growling  tone  of  voice,  another  per- 
sonage was  added  to  this  singular  party. 

“Eh,  Frank  Levitt/'  said  this  new-comer,  who 
entered  with  a hop,  step,  and  jump,  which  at  once 
conveyed  her  from  the  door  into  the  centre  of  the  • 
party,  “ were  ye  killing  our  mother  ? or  were  ye 
cutting  the  grunter’s  weasand  that  Tam  brought  | 
in  this  morning  ? or  have  ye  been  reading  your 
prayers  backward,  to  bring  up  my  auld  acquaint- 
ance the  deil  amang  ye  ? ” 

The  tone  of  the  speaker  was  so  particular,  that 
Jeanie  immediately  recognised  the  woman  who  had  j 
rode  foremost  of  the  pair  which  passed  her  just  jl 
before  she  met  the  robbers  ; a circumstance  which '[ 
greatly  increased  her  terror,  as  it  served  to  show 
that  the  mischief  designed  against  her  was  preme- 
ditated, though  by  whom,  or  for  what  cause,  she 
was  totally  at  a loss  to  conjecture.  From  the  style 
of  her  conversation,  the  reader  also  may  probably 
acknowledge  in  this  female  an  old  acquaintance  in 
the  earlier  part  of  our  narrative. 

“ Out,  ye  mad  devil  J ” said  Tom,  whom  she  had 


THE  HEART  OE  MID-LOTHIAN. 


69 


disturbed  in  the  middle  of  a draught  of  some  liquor 
with  which  he  had  found  means  of  accommodating 
himself ; “ betwixt  your  Bess  of  Bedlam  pranks, 
and  your  dam’s  frenzies,  a man  might  live  quieter  in 
the  devil’s  kern  than  here.”  — And  he  again  resumed 
the  broken  jug  out  of  which  he  had  been  drinking. 

“ And  wlia’s  this  o’t  ? ” said  the  madwoman, 
dancing  up  to  Jeanie  Deans,  who,  although  in  great 
terror,  yet  watched  the  scene  with  a resolution  to 
let  nothing  pass  unnoticed  which  might  be  service- 
able in  assisting  her  to  escape,  or  informing  her  as 
to  the  true  nature  of  her  situation,  and  the  danger 
attending  it,  — “ Wlia’s  this  o’t  ? ” again  exclaimed 
Madge  Wildfire.  “ Douce  Davie  Deans,  the  auld 
doited  whig  body’s  daughter,  in  a gipsy’s  barn, 
and  the  night  setting  in  ; this  is  a sight  for  sair 
een  ! — Eh,  sirs,  the  falling  off  0’  the  godly  ! — and 
the  t’other  sister’s  in  the  Tolbooth  at  Edinburgh  ! 
I am  very  sorry  for  her,  for  my  share  — it’s  my 
mother  wusses  ill  to  her,  and  no  me  — though 
maybe  I hae  as  muckle  cause.” 

“ Hark  ye,  Madge,”  said  the  taller  ruffian,  “ you 
have  not  such  a touch  of  the  devil’s  blood  as  the 
hag  your  mother,  who  may  be  his  dam  for  what  I 
know  — take  this  young  woman  to  your  kennel,  and 
do  not  let  the  devil  enter,  though  he  should  ask  in 
God’s  name.” 

“ Ou  ay  ; that  I will,  Frank,”  said  Madge,  taking 
hold  of  Jeanie  by  the  arm,  and  pulling  her  along  ; 
“ for  it’s  no  for  decent  Christian  young  leddies, 
like  her  and  me,  to  be  keeping  the  like  o’  you  and 
Tyburn  Tam  company  at  this  time  0’  night.  Sae 
gude  e’en  t’ye,  sirs,  and  mony  0’  them ; and  may 
ye  a’  sleep  till  the  hangman  wauken  ye,  and  then 
it  will  be  weel  for  the  country.” 


70 


TALES  0E  MY  LANDLORD. 


She  then,  as  her  wild  fancy  seemed  suddenly  to 
prompt  her,  walked  demurely  towards  her  mother, 
who,  seated  by  the  charcoal  fire,  with  the  reflection 
of  the  red  light  on  her  withered  and  distorted  fea- 
tures marked  by  every  evil  passion,  seemed  the 
very  picture  of  Hecate  at  her  infernal  rites;  and 
suddenly  dropping  on  her  knees,  said,  with  the  man- 
ner of  a six  years  old  child,  “ Mammie,  hear  me  say 
my  prayers  before  I go  to  bed,  and  say  God  bless 
my  bonny  face,  as  ye  used  to  do  lang  syne.” 

“ The  deil  flay  the  hide  o’  it  to  sole  his  brogues 
wi’ ! ” said  the  old  lady,  aiming  a buffet  at  the  sup- 
plicant, in  answer  to  her  duteous  request. 

The  blow  missed  Madge,  who,  being  probably 
acquainted  by  experience  with  the  mode  in  which 
her  mother  was  wont  to  confer  her  maternal  bene- 
dictions, slipt  out  of  arm’s  length  with  great  dexter- 
ity and  quickness.  The  hag  then  started  up,  and,  ; 
seizing  a pair  of  old  fire-tongs,  would  have  amended 
her  motion,  by  beating  out  the  brains  either  of  *j 
her  daughter  or  Jeanie,  (she  did  not  seem  greatly  j 
to  care  which,)  when  her  hand  was  once  more  ar-  j 
rested  by  the  man  whom  they  called  Frank  Levitt, 
who,  seizing  her  by  the  shoulder,  flung  her  from  him  ; 
with  great  violence,  exclaiming,  “What,  Mother 
Damnable  — again,  and  in  my  sovereign  presence  ? 
— Hark  ye,  Madge  of  Bedlam,  get  to  your  hole 
with  your  playfellow,  or  we  shall  have  the  devil 
to  pay  here,  and  nothing  to  pay  him  with.” 

Madge  took  Levitt’s  advice,  retreating  as  fast  as 
she  could,  and  dragging  Jeanie  along  with  her  into 
a sort  of  recess,  partitioned  off  from  the  rest  of 
the  barn,  and  filled  with  straw,  from  which  it  ap- 
peared that  it  was  intended  fur  the  purpose  of 
slumber.  The  moonlight  shone,  through  an  open 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOT  HIAN.  71 

hole,  upon  a pillion,  a pack-saddle,  and  one  or  two 
wallets,  the  travelling  furniture  of  Madge  and  her 
amiable  mother.  — “ Now,  saw  ye  e’er  in  your  life,” 
said  Madge,  “ sae  dainty  a chamber  of  deas  ? see 
as  the  moon  shines  down  sae  caller  on  the  fresh 
strae ! There’s  no  a pleasanter  cell  in  Bedlam,  for 
as  braw  a place  as  it  is  on  the  outside. — Were  ye 
ever  in  Bedlam  ? ” 

“No,”  answered  Jeanie  faintly,  appalled  by  the 
question,  and  the  way  in  which  it  was  put,  yet 
willing  to  soothe  her  insane  companion;  being  in 
circumstances  so  unhappily  precarious,  that  even 
the  society  of  this  gibbering  madwoman  seemed  a 
species  of  protection. 

“ Never  in  Bedlam ! ” said  Madge,  as  if  with 
some  surprise.  — “ But  ye’ll  hae  been  in  the  cells  at 
Edinburgh  ? ” 

“ Never,”  repeated  Jeanie. 

“ Weel,  I think  thae  daft  carles  the  magistrates 
send  naebody  to  Bedlam  but  me  — they  maun  hae 
an  unco  respect  for  me,  for  whenever  I am  brought 
to  them,  they  aye  hae  me  back  to  Bedlam.  But 
troth,  Jeanie,”  (she  said  this  in  a very  confidential 
tone,)  “ to  tell  ye  my  private  mind  about  it,  I think 
ye  are  at  nae  great  loss ; for  the  keeper’s  a cross 
patch,  and  he  maun  hae  it  a*  his  ain  gate,  to  be 
sure,  or  he  makes  the  place  waur  than  hell.  I often 
tell  him  he’s  the  daftest  in  a’  the  house.  - — But  what 
are  they  making  sic  a skirling  for  ? — Deil  ane  o’ 
them’s  get  in  here  — it  wadna  be  mensefu’ ! I will 
sit  wi’  my  back  again  the  door;  it  winna  be  that 
easy  stirring  me.” 

“ Madge  ! ” — “ Madge ! ” — “ Madge  Wildfire  ! ” — 
“ Madge  devil ! what  have  ye  done  with  the  horse  ? 
was  repeatedly  asked  by  the  men  without. 


72 


TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 


“ He’s  e’en  at  his  supper,  puir  thing,”  answered 
Madge ; “ deil  an  ye  were  at  yours  too,  an  it  were 
scauding  brims tane,  and  then  we  wad  hae  less  o’ 
your  din.” 

“ His  supper  ? ” answered  the  more  sulky  ruffian 
— " What  d’ye  mean  by  that;?  — Tell  me  where  he 
is,  or  I will  knock  your  Bedlam  brains  out ! ” 

“ He’s  in  Gaffer  Gabblewood’s  wheat-close,  an  ye 
maun  ken.” 

“ His  wheat-close,  you  crazed  jilt ! ” answered  the 
other,  with  an  accent  of  great  indignation. 

“0,  dear  Tyburn  Tam,  man,  what  ill  will  the 
blades  of  the  young  wheat  do  to  the  puir  naig  ? ” 

“ That  is  not  the  question,”  said  the  other  robber ; 
“but  what  the  country  will  say  to  us  to-morrow 
when  they  see  him  in  such  quarters.  — Go,  Tom, 
and  bring  him  in ; and  avoid  the  soft  ground  my 
lad ; leave  no  hoof-track  behind  you.” 

“ I think  you  give  me  always  the  fag  of  it,  what- 
ever is  to  be  done,”  grumbled  his  companion. 

“Leap,  Laurence,  you’re  long  enough,”  said  the 
other;  and  the  fellow  left  the  barn  accordingly, 
without  farther  remonstrance. 

In  the  meanwhile,  Madge  had  arranged  herself 
for  repose  on  the  straw  ;•  but  still  in  a half-sitting  . 
posture,  with  her  back  resting  against  the  door  of  i 
the  hovel,  which,  as  it  opened  inwards,  was  in  this  \ 
manner  kept  shut  by  the  weight  of  her  person. 

“ There’s  mair  shifts  by  stealing,  Jeanie,”  said 
Madge  Wildfire ; “ though  whiles  I can  hardly  get 
our  mother  to  think  sae.  Wha  wad  hae  thought 
but  mysell  of  making  a bolt  of  my  ain  back-bane ! 
But  it’s  no  sae  strong  as  thae  that  I hae  seen  in  the 
Tolbooth  at  Edinburgh.  The  hammermen  of  Edin- 
burgh are  to  my  mind  afore  the  world  for  making 


THE  HEART  OE  MID-LOTHIAN. 


73 


stancheons,  ring-bolts,  fetter-bolts,  bars,  and  locks. 
And  they  arena  that  bad  at  girdles  for  carcakes 
neither,  though  the  Cu’ross  hammermen  have  the 
gree  for  that.  My  mother  had  ance  a bonny  Cu’- 
ross girdle,  and  I thought  to  have  baked  carcakes 
on  it  for  my  puir  wean  that’s  dead  and  gane  nae 
fair  way — but  we  maun  a’  dee,  ye  ken,  Jeanie  — 
You  Cameronian  bodies  ken  that  brawlie  ; and  ye’re 
for  making  a hell  upon  earth  that  ye  may  be  less 
un willin’  to  part  wi’  it.  But  as  touching  Bedlam 
that  ye  were  speaking  about,  I’se  ne’er  recommend 
it  muckle  the  tae  gate  or  the  tother,  be  it  right 
— be  it  wrang.  But  ye  ken  what  the  sang  says  ?” 
And,  pursuing  the  unconnected  and  floating  wan- 
derings of  her  mind,  she  sang  aloud  — 

“ In  the  bonny  cells  of  Bedlam, 

Ere  I was  ane  and  twenty, 

I had  hempen  bracelets  strong, 

And  merry  whips,  ding-dong, 

And  prayer  and  fasting  plenty. 

“Weel,  Jeanie,  I am  something  herse  the  night, 
and  I canna  sing  muckle  mair ; and  troth,  I think, 
I am  gaun  to  sleep.” 

She  drooped  her  head  on  her  breast,  a posture 
from  which  Jeanie,  who  would  have  given  the 
world  for  an  opportunity  of  quiet  to  consider  the 
means  and  the  probability  of  her  escape,  was  very 
careful  not  to  disturb  her.  After  nodding,  however, 
for  a minute  or  two,  with  her  eyes  half  closed,  the 
unquiet  and  restless  spirit  of  her  malady  again  as- 
sailed Madge.  She  raised  her  head,  and  spoke,  but 
with  a lowered  tone,  which  was  again  gradually 
overcome  by  drowsiness,  to  which  the  fatigue  of  a 
day’s  journey  on  horseback  had  probably  given  un- 


74  Tales  of  my  landlord. 

wonted  occasion,  — “ I dinna  ken  what  makes  me 
sae  sleepy  — I amaist  never  sleep  till  my  bonny 
Lady  Moon  gangs  till  her  bed  — mair  by  token, 
when  she's  at  the  full,  ye  ken,  rowing  aboon  us  yon- 
der in  her  grand  silver  coach  — I have  danced  to 
her  my  lane  sometimes  for  very  joy  — and  whiles 
dead  folk  came  and  danced  wi’  me  — the  like  o' 
Jock  Porteous,  or  ony  body  I had  kend  when  I was 
living  — for  ye  maun  ken  I was  ance  dead  mysell.” 
Here  the  poor  maniac  sung  in  a low  and  wild  tone, 

“ My  banes  are  buried  in  yon  kirkyard 
Sae  far  ayont  the  sea, 

And  it  is  but  my  blithesome  gbaist 
That’s  speaking  now  to  thee. 

“ But,  after  a',  Jeanie,  my  woman,  naebody  kens 
weel  wha’s  living  and  wha’s  dead  — or  wha’s  gane 
to  Fairyland  — there’s  another  question.  Whiles  I I 
think  my  puir  bairn’s  dead  — ye  ken  very  weel  it’s 
buried  — but  that  signifies  naething.  I have  had  it 
on  my  knee  a hundred  times,  and  a hundred  till  < 
that,  since  it  was  buried  — and  how  could  that  be 
were  it  dead,  ye  ken?  — it’s  merely  impossible.”  — 
And  here,  some  conviction  half-overcoming  the 
reveries  of  her  imagination,  she  burst  into  a fit  of 
crying  and  ejaculation,  “ Wae’s  me  ! wae’s  me  ! wae’s 
me ! ” till  at  length  she  moaned  and  sobbed  herself  ; 
into  a deep  sleep,  which  was  soon  intimated  by  her  j 
breathing  hard,  leaving  Jeanie  to  her  own  melan-  j 
choly  reflections  and  observations. 


CHAPTER  YI. 


Bind  her  quickly  ; or,  by  this  steel, 

I’ll  tell,  although  I truss  for  company. 

* Fletcher. 

The  imperfect  light  which  shone  into  the  window 
enabled  Jeanie  to  see  that  there  was  scarcely  any 
chance  of  making  her  escape  in  that  direction ; for 
the  aperture  was  high  in  the  wall,  and  so  narrow, 
that,  could  she  have  climbed  up  to  it,  she  might 
well  doubt  whether  it  would  have  permitted  her  to 
pass  her  body  through  it.  An  unsuccessful  attempt 
to  escape  would  be  sure  to  draw  down  worse  treat- 
ment than  she  now  received,  and  she,  therefore,  re- 
solved to  watch  her  opportunity  carefully  ere  mak- 
ing such  a perilous  effort.  For  this  purpose  she 
applied  herself  to  the  ruinous  clay  partition,  which 
divided  the  hovel  in  which  she  now  was  from  the 
rest  of  the  waste  barn.  It  was  decayed  and  full  of 
cracks  and  chinks,  one  of  which  she  enlarged  with 
her  fingers,  cautiously  and  without  noise,  until  she 
could  obtain  a plain  view  of  the  old  hag  and  the 
taller  ruffian,  whom  they  called  Levitt,  seated  to- 
gether beside  the  decayed  fire  of  charcoal,  and  ap- 
parently engaged  in  close  conference.  She  was  at 
first  terrified  by  the  sight,  for  the  features  of  the  old 
woman  had  a hideous  cast  of  hardened  and  inveter- 
ate malice  and  ill-humour,  and  those  of  the  man, 
though  naturally  less  unfavourable,  were  such  as 


;6 


TALES  OE  MY  LANDLORD. 


corresponded  well  with  licentious  habits,  and  a law- 
less profession. 

“But  I remembered,”  said  Jeanie,  “my  worthy 
father’s  tales  of  a winter  evening,  how  he  was  con- 
fined with  the  blessed  martyr  Mr.  James  Renwick, 
who  lifted  up  the  fallen  standard  of  the  true  re- 
formed Kirk  of  Scotland,  after  the  worthy  and  re- 
nowned Daniel  Cameron,  our  last  blessed  bannerman, 
had  fallen  among  the  swords  of  the  wicked  at  Airs- 
moss,  and  how  the  very  hearts  of  the  wicked  male- 
factors and  murderers,  whom  they  were  confined 
withal,  were  melted  like  wax  at  the  sound  of  their 
doctrine;  and  I bethought  mysell,  that  the  same  help 
that  was  wi’  them  in  their  strait,  wad  be  wi’  me  in 
mine,  an  I could  but  watch  the  Lord’s  time  and  op- 
portunity for  delivering  my  feet  from  their  snare ; \ 
and  I minded  the  Scripture  of  the  blessed  Psalmist, 
whilk  he  insisteth  on,  as  weel  in  the  forty-second  as  i 
in  the  forty-third  psalm,  ‘ Why  art  thou  cast  down, 

0 my  soul,  and  why  art  thou  disquieted  within  me  ? ] 
Hope  in  God,  for  I shall  yet  praise  Him,  who  is  the 
health  of  my  countenance,  and  my  God.’  ” 

/ Strengthened  in  a mind  naturally  calm,  sedate, 
^nd  firm,  by  the  influence  of  religious  confidence,  ; 
this  poor  captive  was  enabled  to  attend  to,  and  com- 
prehend, a great  part  of  an  interesting  conversation  | 
which  passed  betwixt  those  into  whose  hands  she  • 
had  fallen,  notwithstanding  that  their  meaning  was  1 
partly  disguised  by  the  occasional  use  of  cant  terms,  j 
of  which  Jeanie  knew  not  the  import,  by  the  low  j 
tone  in  which  they  spoke,  and  by  their  mode  of  sup-  i 
plying  their  broken  phrases  by  shrugs  and  signs,  as 
is  usual  amongst  those  of  their  disorderly  profession. 

The  man  opened  the  conversation  by  saying, 
'‘Now,  dame,  you  see  I am  true  to  my  friend.  I 


THE  HEART  OE  MID-LOTHIAN. 


77 


have  not  forgot  that  you  planked  a chury , 1 which 
helped  me  through  the  bars  of  the  Castle  of  York, 
and  I came  to  do  your  work  without  asking  ques- 
tions, for  one  good  turn  deserves  another.  But  now 
that  Madge,  who  is  as  loud  as  Tom  of  Lincoln,  is 
somewhat  still,  and  this  same  Tyburn  Neddie  is 
shaking  his  heels  after  the  old  nag,  why,  you  must 
tell  me  what  all  this  is  about,  and  what’s  to  be  done 
— for  d — n me  if  I touch  the  girl,  or  let  her  be 
touched,  and  she  with  Jim  Rat’s  pass  too.” 

“Thou  art  an  honest  lad,  Frank,”  answered  the 
old  woman,  “ but  e’en  too  kind  for  thy  trade ; thy 
tender  heart  will  get  thee  into  trouble.  I will  see 
ye  gang  up  Holborn  Hill  backward,  and  a’  on  the 
word  of  some  silly  loon  that  could  never  hae  rapped 
to  ye  had  ye  drawn  your  knife  across  his  weasand.” 

“ You  may  be  baulked  there,  old  one,”  answered 
the  robber ; “ I have  known  many  a pretty  lad  cut 
short  in  his  first  summer  upon  the  road,  because  he 
was  something  hasty  with  his  flats  and  sharps.  Be- 
sides, a man  would  fain  live  out  his  two  years  with 
a good  conscience.  So,  tell  me  what  all  this  is 
about,  and  what’s  to  be  done  for  you  that  one  can 
do  decently  ? ” 

“Why,  you  must  know,  Frank  — but  first  taste  a 
snap  of  right  Hollands.”  She  drew  a flask  from  her 
pocket,  and  filled  the  fellow  a large  bumper,  which 
he  pronounced  to  be  the  right  thing.  — “ You  must 
know,  then,  Frank — wunna  ye  mend  your  hand?” 
again  offering  the  flask. 

“No,  no  — when  a woman  wants  mischief  from 
you,  she  always  begins  by  filling  you  drunk.  D — n 
all  Dutch  courage.  What  I do  I will  do  soberly  — 
I’ll  last  the  longer  for  that  too.” 

1 Concealed  a knife. 


78 


TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 


"Well,  then,  you  must  know,”  resumed  the  old 
woman,  without  any  farther  attempts  at  propitia- 
tion, "that  this  girl  is  going  to  London.” 

Here  Jeanie  could  only  distinguish  the  word 
“ sister” 

The  robber  answered  in  a louder  tone,  "Fair 
enough  that ; and  what  the  devil  is  your  business 
with  it  ? ” 

"Business  enough,  I think.  If  the  b — queers 
the  noose,  that  silly  cull  will  marry  her.” 

" And  who  cares  if  he  does  ? ” said  the  man. 

" Who  cares,  ye  donnard  Neddie  ? I care ; and  I 
will  strangle  her  with  my  own  hands,  rather  than 
she  should  come  to  Madge’s  preferment.” 

“ Madge’s  preferment  ? Does  your  old  blind  eyes 
see  no  farther  than  that  ? If  he  is  as  you  say,  d’ye 
think  he’ll  ever  marry  a moon-calf  like  Madge  ? 
Ecod,  that’s  a good  one  — Marry  Madge  Wildfire  ? 
— Ha  ! ha  ! ha ! ” 

" Hark  ye,  ye  crack-rope  padder,  born  beggar,  and 
bred  thief ! ” replied  the  hag,  " suppose  he  never 
marries  the  wench,  is  that  a reason  he  should  marry 
another,  and  that  other  to  hold  my  daughter’s  place, 
and  she  crazed,  and  I a beggar,  and  all  along  of  him  ? t 
But  I know  that  of  him  will  hang  him  — I know 
that  of  him  will  hang  him,  if  he  had  a thousand 
lives  — I know  that  of  him  will  hang  — hang  — 
hang  him ! ” 

She  grinned  as  she  repeated  and  dwelt  upon  the 
fatal  monosyllable,  with  the  emphasis  of  a vindic- 
tive fiend. 

" Then  why  don’t  you  hang  — hang  — hang 
him?”  said  Frank,  repeating  her  words  con- 
temptuously. " There  would  be  more  sense  in 
that,  than  in  wreaking  yourself  here  upon  two 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN. 


79 

wenches  that  have  done  you  and  your  daughter  no 

ill.” 

“ No  ill  ? ” answered  the  old  woman  — “ and  he  to 
marry  this  jail-bird,  if  ever  she  gets  her  foot  loose  ! ” 
“But  as  there  is  no  chance  of  his  marrying  a 
bird  of  your  brood,  I cannot,  for  my  soul,  see  what 
you  have  to  do  with  all  this,”  again  replied  the 
robber,  shrugging  his  shoulders.  “ Where  there  is 
aught  to  be  got,  I’ll  go  as  far  as  my  neighbours, 
but  I hate  mischief  for  mischief’s  sake.” 

“ And  would  you  go  nae  length  for  revenge  ? ” 
said  the  hag  — “ for  revenge,  the  sweetest  morsel  to 
the  mouth  that  ever  was  cooked  in  hell ! ” 

“The  devil  may  keep  it  for  his  own  eating, 
then,”  said  the  robber ; “ for  hang  me  if  I like  the 
sauce  he  dresses  it  with.” 

“ Revenge  ! ” continued  the  old  woman  ; “ why, 
it  is  the  best  reward  the  devil  gives  us  for  our  time 
here  and  hereafter.  I have  wrought  hard  for  it  — 
I have  suffered  for  it,  and  I have  sinned  for  it  — 
and  I will  have  it,  — or  there  is  neither  justice  in 
heaven  nor  in  hell ! ” 

Levitt  had  by  this  time  lighted  a pipe,  and  was 
listening  with  great  composure  to  the  frantic  and 
vindictive  ravings  of  the  old  hag.  He  was  too 
much  hardened  by  his  course  of  life  to  be  shocked 
with  them  — too  indifferent,  and  probably  too  stu- 
pid, to  catch  any  part  of  their  animation  or  energy. 
“ But,  mother,”  he  said,  after  a pause,  “ still  I say, 
that  if  revenge  is  your  wish,  you  should  take  it  on 
the  young  fellow  himself.” 

“ I wish  I could,”  she  said,  drawing  in  her  breath, 
with  the  eagerness  of  a thirsty  person  while  mimick- 
ing the  action  of  drinking  — “ I wish  I could  ! — -but 
no  — I cannot  — I cannot.” 


So 


TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 


“And  why  not?  — You  would  think  little  of 
peaching  and  hanging  him  for  this  Scotch  affair.  — 
Rat  me,  one  might  have  milled  the  Bank  of  Eng- 
land, and  less  noise  about  it.” 

“ I have  nursed  him  at  this  withered  breast,” 
answered  the  old  woman,  folding  her  hands  on 
her  bosom,  as  if  pressing  an  infant  to  it,  “and 
though  he  has  proved  an  adder  to  me  — though 
he  has  been  the  destruction  of  me  and  mine  — 
though  he  has  made  me  company  for  the  devil, 
if  there  be  a devil,  and  food  for  hell,  if  there 
be  such  a place,  yet  I cannot  take  his  life  — No, 

I cannot,”  she  continued,  with  an  appearance  of 
rage  against  herself;  “ I have  thought  of  it  — I 
have  tried  it  — but,  Francis  Levitt,  I canna  gang 
through  wi’t ! — Na,  na  — he  was  the  first  bairn  I 
ever  nurst  — ill  I had  been  — but  man  can  never 
ken  what  woman  feels  for  the  bairn  she  has  held 
first  to  her  bosom  ! ” 

“ To  be  sure,”  said  Levitt,  “ we  have  no  expe- 
rience. But,  mother,  they  say  you  ha’ n’t  been  so 
kind  to  other  bairns , as  you  call  them,  that  have 
come  in  your  way.  — Nay,  d — n me,  never  lay  your 
hand  on  the  whittle,  for  I am  captain  and  leader 
here,  and  I will  have  no  rebellion.” 

The  hag,  whose  first  motion  had  been,  upon  hear- 
ing the  question,  to  grasp  the  haft  of  a large  knife,  | 
now  unclosed  her  hand,  stole  it  away  from  the 
weapon,  and  suffered  it  to  fall  by  her  side,  while 
she  proceeded  with  a sort  of  smile  — “ Bairns  ! ye 
are  joking,  lad,  wha  wad  touch  bairns  ? Madge,  puir 
thing,  had  a misfortune  wi’  ane  — and  the  tother  ” — - 
Here  her  voice  sunk  so  much,  that  Jeanie,  though 
anxiously  upon  the  watch,  could  not  catch  a word 
she  said,  until  she  raised  her  tone  at  the  conclusion 


THE  HEART  OE  MIDLOTHIAN. 


81 


of  the  sentence  — “ So  Madge,  in  her  daffirE,  threw 
it  into  the  Nor’-Loch,  I trow.” 

Madge,  whose  slumbers,  like  those  of  most  who 
labour  under  mental  malady,  had  been  short  and 
were  easily  broken,  now  made  herself  heard  from 
her  place  of  repose. 

“ Indeed,  mother,  that’s  a great  lee,  for  I did  nae 
sic  thing.” 

“Hush,  thou  hellicat  devil,”  said  her  mother  — 
“ By  Heaven  ! the  other  wench  will  be  waking  too  ! ” 

“That  may  be  dangerous,”  said  Frank;  and  he 
rose  and  followed  Meg  Murdockson  across  the 
floor. 

“ Rise,”  said  the  hag  to  her  daughter,  “ or  I sail 
drive  the  knife  between  the  planks  into  the  Bed- 
lam back  of  thee  ! ” 

Apparently  she  at  the  same  time  seconded  her 
threat,  by  pricking  her  with  the  point  of  a knife, 
for  Madge,  with  a faint  scream,  changed  her  place, 
and  the  door  opened. 

The  old  woman  held  a candle  in  one  hand,  and 
a knife  in  the  other.  Levitt  appeared  behind  her  ; 
whether  with  a view  of  preventing,  or  assisting  her 
in  any  violence  she  might  meditate,  could  not  be 
well  guessed.  Jeanie’s  presence  of  mind  stood  her 
friend  in  this  dreadful  crisis.  She  had  resolution 
enough  to  maintain  the  attitude  and  manner  of  one 
who  sleeps  profoundly,  and  to  regulate  even  her 
breathing,  notwithstanding  the  agitation  of  instant 
terror,  so  as  to  correspond  with  her  attitude. 

The  old  woman  passed  the  light  across  her  eyes  ; 
and  although  Jeanie’s  fears  were  so  powerfully  awak- 
ened by  this  movement,  that  she  often  declared 
afterwards,  that  she  thought  she  saw  the  figures  of 
her  destined  murderers  through  her  closed  eyelids, 


8: 2 


TALES  OE  MY  LANDLORD. 


she  had  still  the  resolution  to  maintain  the  feint* 
on  which  her  safety  perhaps  depended. 

Levitt  looked  at  her  with  fixed  attention ; he 
then  turned  the  old  woman  out  of  the  place,  and 
followed  her  himself.  Having  regained  the  outer 
apartment,  and  seated  themselves,  Jeanie  heard  the 
highwayman  say,  to  her  no  small  relief,  “ She's  as 
fast  as  if  she  were  in  Bedfordshire.  — Now,  old  Meg, 
d — n me,  if  I can  understand  a glim  of  this  story 
of  yours,  or  what  good  it  will  do  you  to  hang  the 
one  wench,  and  torment  the  other ; but,  rat  me,  I 
will  be  true  to  my  friend,  and  serve  ye  the  way  ye 
like  it.  I see  it  will  be  a bad  job  ; but  I do  think  I 
could  get  her  down  to  Surfleet  on  the  Wash,  and  so 
on  board  Tom  Moonshine’s  neat  lugger,  and  keep 
her  out  of  the  way  three  or  four  weeks,  if  that  will 
please  ye  ? — But  d — n me  if  any  one  shall  harm 
her,  unless  they  have  a mind  to  choke  on  a brace  ; 
of  blue  plums. — It’s  a cruel  bad  job,  and  I wish  you 
and  it,  Meg,  were  both  at  the  devil.”  ] 

“ Never  mind,  hinny  Levitt,”  said  the  old  woman ; 

“ you  are  a ruffler,  and  will  have  a’  your  ain  gate  — 
She  shanna  gang  to  heaven  an  hour  sooner  for  me ; 

I carena  whether  she  live  or  die  — it’s  her  sister  — 
ay,  her  sister  ! ” 

“Well,  we’ll  say  no  more  about  it,  I hear  Tom 
coming  in.  , We’ll  couch  a hogshead, 1 and  so  better 
had  you.”  They  retired  to  repose,  accordingly,  and 
all  was  silent  in  this  asylum  of  iniquity. 

Jeanie  lay  for  a long  time  awake.  At  break  of 
day  she  heard  the  two  ruffians  leave  the  barn,  after 
whispering  with  the  old  woman  for  some  time.  The 
sense  that  she  was  now  guarded  only  by  persons  of 


1 Lay  ourselves  down  to  sleep. 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN.  83 

her  own  sex  gave  her  some  confidence,  and  irresistible 
lassitude  at  length  threw  her  into  slumber. 

When  the  captive  awakened,  the  sun  was  high  in 
heaven,  and  the  morning  considerably  advanced. 
Madge  Wildfire  was  still  in  the  hovel  which  had 
served  them  for  the  night,  and  immediately  bid  her 
good  morning,  with  her  usual  air  of  insane  glee. 
“ And  d’ye  ken,  lass,”  said  Madge,  u there’s  queer 
things  chanced  since  ye  hae  been  in  the  land  of 
Nod.  The  constables  hae  been  here,  woman,  and 
they  met  wi’  my  minnie  at  the  door,  and  they 
whirl’d  her  qwa  to  the  Justice’s  about  the  man’s 
wheat.  — Dear  ! thae  English  churls  think  as  muckle 
about  a blade  of  wheat  or  grass,  as  a Scots  laird  does 
about  his  maukins  and  his  muir-poots.  Now,  lass, 
if  ye  like,  we’ll  play  them  a fine  jink;  we  will  awa 
out  and  take  a walk  — they  will  make  unco  wark 
when  they  miss  us,  but  we  can  easily  be  back  by 
dinner  time,  or  before  dark  night  at  ony  rate,  and 
it  will  be  some  frolic  and  fresh  air.  — But  maybe 
ye  wad  like  to  take  some  breakfast,  and  then  lie 
down  again  ? I ken  by  my  sell,  there’s  whiles  I can  sit 
wi’  my  head  on  my  hand  the  haill  day,  and  havena 
a word  to  cast  at  a dog  — * and  other  whiles  that  I 
canna  sit  still  a moment.  That’s  when  the  folk 
think  me  warst,  but  I am  aye  canny  eneugh  — ye 
needna  be  feared  to  walk  wi’  me.” 

Had  Madge  Wildfire  been  the  most  raging  lunatic, 
instead  of  possessing  a doubtful,  uncertain,  and  twi- 
light sort  of  rationality,  varying,  probably,  from  the 
influence  of  the  most  trivial  causes,  Jeanie  would 
hardly  have  objected  to  leave  a place  of  captivity 
where  she  had  so  much  to  apprehend.  She  eagerly 
assured  Madge  that  she  had  no  occasion  for  farther 
sleep,  no  desire  whatever  for  eating ; and  hoping  in- 


84 


TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 


ternally  that  she  was  not  guilty  of  sin  in  doing  so, 
she  flattered  her  keeper’s  crazy  humour  for  walking 
in  the  woods. 

“It’s  no  a’thegither  for  that  neither,”  said  poor 
Madge;  “but  I am  judging  ye  will  wun  the  better 
out  o’  thae  folk’s  hands ; no  that  they  are  a’the- 
gither bad  folk  neither,  but  they  have  queer  ways 
wi’  them,  and  I whiles  diiina  think  it  has  been  ever 
very  weel  wi’  my  mother  and  me  since  we  kept 
sic-like  company.” 

With  the  haste,  the  joy,  the  fear,  and  the  hope 
of  a liberated  captive,  Jeanie  snatched  up  her  little 
bundle,  followed  Madge  into  the  free  air,  and  eagerly 
looked  round  her  for  a human  habitation ; but  none 
was  to  be  seen.  The  ground  was  partly  cultivated, 
and  partly  left  in  its  natural  state,  according  as 'the 
fancy  of  the  slovenly  agriculturists  had  decided.  In 
its  natural  state  it  was  waste,  in  some  places  covered  t 
with  dwarf  trees  and  bushes,  in  others  swamp,  and 
elsewhere  firm  and  dry  downs  or  pasture  grounds. 

Jeanie’s  active  mind  next  led  her  to  conjecture  < 
which  way  the  high-road  lay,  whence  she  had  been 
forced.  If  she  regained  that  public  road,  she  im- 
agined she  must  soon  meet  some  person,  or  arrive 
at  some  house,  where  she  might  tell  her  story,  and 
request  protection.  But  after  a glance  around  her, 
she  saw  with  regret  that  she  had  no  means  what-  i 
ever  of  directing  her  course  with  any  degree  of 
certainty,  and  that  she  was  still  in  dependence  j 
upon  her  crazy  companion.  “ Shal]  we  not  walk  upon 
the  high-road  ? ” said  she  to  Madge,  in  such  a tone 
as  a nurse  uses  to  coax  a child.  “ It’s  brawer 
walking  on  the  road  than  amang  thae  wild  bushes 
and  whins.” 

Madge,  who  was  walking  very  fast,  stopped  at 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN. 


85 


this  question,  and  looked  at  Jeanie  with  a sudden 
and  scrutinizing  glance,  that  seemed  to  indicate 
complete  acquaintance  with  her  purpose.  “Aha, 
lass!”  she  exclaimed,  “are  ye  gaun  to  guide  us 
that  gate?  — Ye’ll  be  for  making  your  heels  save 
your  head,  I am  judging.” 

Jeanie  hesitated  for  a moment,  on  hearing  her 
companion  thus  express  herself,  whether  she  had 
not  better  take  the  hint,  and  try  to  outstrip  and  get 
rid  of  her.  But  she  knew  not  in  which  direction 
to  fly ; she  was  by  no  means  sure  that  she  would 
prove  the  swiftest,  and  perfectly  conscious  that,  in 
the  event  of  her  being  pursued  and  overtaken,  she 
would  be  inferior  to  the  madwoman  in  strength. 
She  therefore  gave  up  thoughts  for  the  present  of 
attempting  to  escape  in  that  manner,  and,  saying  a 
few  words  to  allay  Madge’s  suspicions,  she  followed 
in  anxious  apprehension  the  wayward  path  by  which 
her  guide  thought  proper  to  lead  her.  Madge,  infirm 
of  purpose,  and  easily  reconciled  to  the  present  scene, 
whatever  it  was,  began  soon  to  talk  with  her  usual 
diffuseness  of  ideas. 

“ It’s  a dainty  thing  to  be  in  the  woods  on  a fine 
morning  like  this  — I like  it  far  better  than  the 
town,  for  there  isna  a wheen  duddie  bairns  to  be 
crying  after  ane,  as  if  ane  were  a warld’s  won- 
der, just  because  ane  maybe  is  a thought  bonnier 
and  better  put-on  than  their  neighbours  — though, 
Jeanie,  ye  suld  never  be  proud  o’  braw  claiths,  or 
beauty  neither  — wae’s  me  ! they’re  but  a snare.  I 
anes  thought  better  0’  them,  and  what  came  o’t  ? ” 

“ Are  ye  sure  ye  ken  the  way  ye  are  taking  us  ? ” 
said  Jeanie,  who  began  to  imagine  that  she  was 
getting  deeper  into  the  woods,  and  more  remote 
from  the  high-road. 


86 


TALES  0 E MY  LANDLORD. 


“Do  I ken  the  road?  — Wasna  I mony  a day 
living  here,  and  whatfor  shouldna  Idsen  the  road  ? 
— I might  hae  forgotten,  too,  for  it  was  afore  my 
accident ; but  there  are  some  things  ane  can  never 
forget,  let  them  try  it  as  muckle  as  they  like” 

By  this  time  they  had  gained  the  deepest  part 
of  a patch  of  woodland.  The  trees  were  a little 
separated  from  each  other,  and  at  the  foot  of  one  of 
them,  a beautiful  poplar,  was  a variegated  hillock 
of  wild  flowers  and  moss,  such  as  the  poet  of  Gras- 
mere has  described  in  his  verses  on  the  Thorn.  So 
soon  as  she  arrived  at  this  spot,  Madge  Wildfire, 
joining  her  hands  above  her  head,  with  a loud 
scream  that  resembled  laughter,  flung  herself  all  at 
once  upon  the  spot,  and  remained  lying  there 
motionless. 

Jeanie’s  first  idea  was  to  take  the  opportunity 
of  flight;  but  her  desire  to  escape  yielded  for  a 
moment  to  apprehension  for  the  poor  insane  being, 
who,  she  thought,  might  perish  for  want  of  relief. 
With  an  effort,  which,  in  her  circumstances,  might 
be  termed  heroic,  she  stooped  down,  spoke  in  a 
soothing  tone,  and  endeavoured  to  raise  up  the 
forlorn  creature.  She  effected  this  with  difficulty, 
and,  as  she  placed  her  against  the  tree  in  a sitting 
posture,  she  observed  with  surprise,  that  her  com- 
plexion, usually  florid,  was  now  deadly  pale,  and 
that  her  face  was  bathed  in  tears.  Notwithstand- 
ing her  own  extreme  danger,  Jeanie  was  affected  by 
the  situation  of  her  companion ; and  the  rather, 
that  through  the  whole  train  of  her  wavering  and 
inconsistent  state  of  mind  and  line  of  conduct,  she 
discerned  a general  colour  of  kindness  towards  her- 
self, for  which  she  felt  grateful. 

••  Let  me  alane  ! — let  me  alane  ! ” said  the  poor 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHlAN 


8? 


young  woman,  as  her  paroxysm  of  sorrow  began  to 
abate  — “Let"  me  alane  — it  does  me  good  to  weep. 
I canna  shed  tears  but  maybe  anes  or  twice  a-year, 
and  I aye  come  to  wet  this  turf  with  them,  that 
the  flowers  may  grow  fair,  and  the  grass  may  be 
green.” 

" But  what  is  the  matter  with  you  ? ” said  Jeanie 
— “ Why  do  you  weep  so  bitterly  ? ” 

“ There’s  matter  enow,”  replied  the  lunatic,  — 
“ mair  than  ae  puir  mind  can  bear,  I trow.  Stay 
a bit,  and  I’ll  tell  you  a’  about  it;  for  I like  ye, 
Jeanie  Deans  — a’body  spoke  weel  about  ye  when 
we  lived  in  the  Pleasaunts  — And  I mind  aye  the 
drink  o’  milk  ye  gae  me  yon  day,  when  I had  been 
on  Arthur’s  Seat  for  four-and-twenty  hours,  looking 
for  the  ship  that  somebody  was  sailing  in.” 

These  words  recalled  to  Jeanie’s  recollection, 
that,  in  fact,  she  had  been  one  morning  much  fright- 
ened by  meeting  a crazy  young  woman  near  her 
father’s  house  at  an  early  hour,  and  that,  as  she 
appeared  to  be  harmless,  her  apprehension  had  been 
changed  into  pity,  and  she  had  relieved  the  un- 
happy wanderer  with  some  food,  which  she  devoured 
with  the  haste  of  a famished  person.  The  incident, 
trifling  in  itself,  was  at  present  of  great  importance, 
if  it  should  be  found  to  have  made  a favourable  and 
permanent  impression  on  the  mind  of  the  object  of 
her  charity. 

“Yes,”  said  Madge,  "I’ll  tell  ye  all  about  it  for 
ye  are  a decent  man’s  daughter  — Douce  Davie 
Deans,  ye  ken  — and  maybe  ye’ll  can  teach  me  to 
find  out  the  narrow  way,  and  the  strait  path ; for  I 
have  „ been  burning  bricks  in  Egypt,  and  walking 
through  the  weary  wilderness  of  Sinai,  for  lang  and 
mony  a day.  But  whenever  I think  about  mine 


88 


TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 


errors,  I am  like  to  cover  my  lips  for  shame.”  — 
Here  she  looked  up  and  smiled.  — “ It's  a strange 
thing  now  — I hae  spoke  mair  gude  words  to  you  in 
ten  minutes,  than  I wad  speak  to  my  mother  in  as 
mony  years.  It’s  no  that  I dinna  think  on  them  — 
and  whiles  they  are  just  at  my  tongue’s  end ; but 
then  comes  the  Devil,  and  brushes  my  lips  with  his 
black  wing,  and  lays  his  broad  black  loof  on  my 
mouth  — for  a black  loof  it  is,  Jeanie  — and  sweeps 
away  a’  my  gude  thoughts,  and  dits  up  my  gude 
words,  and  pits  a wheen  fule  sangs  and  idle  vanities 
in  their  place.” 

“Try,  Madge,”  said  Jeanie,  — “try  to  settle  your 
mind  and  make  your  breast  clean,  and  you’ll  find 
your  heart  easier  — Just  resist  the  devil,  and  he 
will  flee  from  you  — and  mind  that,  as  my  worthy 
father  tells  me,  there  is  nae  devil  sae  deceitfu’  as 
our  ain  wandering  thoughts.”  j 

“ And  that’s  true  too,  lass,”  said  Madge,  starting 
up;  “ and  I’ll  gang  a gate  where  the  devil  daurna  • 
follow  me;  and  it’s  a gate  that  you  will  like  dearly  • 
to  gang  — but  I’ll  keep  a fast  haud  o’  your  arm,  for 
fear  Apollyon  should  stride  across  the  path,  as  he 
did  in  the  Pilgrim’s  Progress.” 

Accordingly  she  got  up,  and,  taking  Jeanie  by  the 
arm,  began  to  walk  forward  at  a great  pace;  and 
soon,  to  her  companion’s  no  small  joy,  came  into  a \ 
marked  path,  with  the  meanders  of  which  she 
seemed  perfectly  acquainted.  Jeanie  endeavoured  I 
to  bring  her  back  to  the  confessional,  but  the  fancy 
was  gone  by.  In  fact,  the  mind  of  this  deranged 
being  resembled  nothing  so  much  as  a quantity  of 
dry  leaves,  which  may  for  a few  minutes  remain 
still,  but  are  instantly  discomposed  and  put  in  mo- 
tion by  the  first  casual  breath  of  air.  She  had  now 


THE  HEART  OE  MID-LOTHIAN. 


89 


got  John  Bunyan’s  parable  into  her  head,  to  the 
exclusion  of  every  thing  else,  and  on  she  went  with 
great  volubility. 

“ Did  ye  never  read  the  Pilgrim’s  Progress  ? 
And  you  shall  be  the  woman  Christiana,  and  I will 
be  the  maiden  Mercy  — for  ye  ken  Mercy  was  of 
the  fairer  countenance,  and  the  more  alluring  than 
her  companion  — and  if  I had  my  little  messan  dog 
here,  it  would  be  Great-Heart  their  guide,  ye  ken, 
for  he  was  e’en  as  bauld,  that  he  wad  bark  at  ony 
thing  twenty  times  his  size ; and  that  was  e’en  the 
death  of  him,  for  he  bit  Corporal  MacAlpine’s  heels 
ae  morning  when  they  were  hauling  me  to  the 
guard-house,  and  Corpoial  Mac  Alpine  killed  the  bit 
faithfu’  thing  wi’  his  Lochaber  axe  — deil  pike  the 
Highland  banes  0’  him  ! ” 

“0  fie,  Madge,”  said  Jeanie,  “ye  should  not 
speak  such  words.” 

“ It’s  very  true,”  said  Madge,  shaking  her  head ; 
“but  then  I maunna  think  on  my  puir  bit  doggie, 
Snap,  when  I saw  it  lying  dying  in  the  gutter. 
But  it’s  just  as  weel,  for  it  suffered  baith  cauld  and 
hunger  when  it  was  living,  and  in  the  grave  there 
is  rest  for  a’  things  — rest  for  the  doggie,  and  my 
puir  bairn,  and  me.” 

“Your  bairn?”  said  Jeanie,  conceiving  that  by 
speaking  on  such  a topic,  supposing  it  to  be  a real 
one,  she  could  not  fail  to  bring  her  companion  to 
a more  composed  temper. 

She  was  mistaken,  however,  for  Madge  coloured, 
and  replied  with  some  anger,  “ My  bairn  ? ay,  to 
be  sure,  my  bairn.  Whatfor  shouldna  I hae  a bairn, 
and  lose  a bairn  too,  as  weel  as  your  bonny  tittie, 
the  Lily  of  St.  Leonard’s  ? ” 

The  answer  struck  Jeanie  with  some  alarm,  and 


90 


TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 


she  was  anxious  to  soothe  the  irritation  she  had  un- 
wittingly given  occasion  to.  “ I am  very  sorry  for 
your  misfortune  ” • 

“ Sorry  ? what  wad  ye  be  sorry  for  ? ” answered 
Madge.  “ The  bairn  was  a blessing  — that  is, 
Jeanie,  it  wad  hae  been  a blessing  if  it  hadna  been 
for  my  mother ; but  my  mother’s  a queer  woman. 

— Ye  see,  there  was  an  auld  carle  wi’ a bit  land, 
and  a gude  clat  o’  siller  besides,  just  the  very  pic- 
ture of  old  Mr.  Feeblemind  or  Mr.  Ready -to-h  alt, 
that  Great-Heart  delivered  from  Slaygood  the  giant, 
when  he  was  rifling  him  and  about  to  pick  his 
bones,  for  Slaygood  was  of  the  nature  of . the  flesh- 
eaters  — and  Great-Heart  killed  Giant  Despair  too 

— but  I am  doubting  Giant  Despair’s  come  alive 
again,  for  a’  the  story  book  — I find  him  busy  at  my 
heart  whiles.” 

“ Weel,  and  so  the  auld  carle,”  — said  Jeanie,  for 
she  was  painfully  interested  in  getting  to  the  truth 
of  Madge’s  history,  which  she  could  not  but  sus- 
pect was  in  some  extraordinary  way  linked  and  en- 
twined with  the  fate  of  her  sister.  She  was  also 
desirous,  if  possible,  to  engage  her  companion  in 
some  narrative  which  might  be  carried  on  in  a 
lower  tone  of  voice,  for  she  was  in  great  appre- 
hension lest  the  elevated  notes  of  Madge’s  conversa- 
tion should  direct  her  mother  or  the  robbers  in 
search  of  them. 

“ And  so*  the  auld  carle,”  said  Madge,  repeat- 
ing her  words  — “I  wish  you  had  seen  him  stoiting 
about,  aff  ae  leg  on  to  the  other,  wi’  a kind  o’  dot- 
and-go-one  sort  o’  motion,  as  if  ilk  ane  o’  his  twa 
legs  had  belonged  to  sindry  folk  — But  Gentle 
George  could  take  him  aft  brawly  — Eh,  as  I used 
to  laugh  to  see  George  gang  hip-hop  like  him  ! — 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN.  91 

I dirina  ken,  I think  I laughed  heartier  then  than 
what  I do  now,  though  maybe  no  just  sae  muckle.” 
“And  who  was  Gentle  George  ?”  said  Jeanie, 
endeavouring  to  bring  her  back  to  her  story. 

“ 0,  he  was  Geordie  Robertson,  ye  ken,  when 
he  was  in  Edinburgh ; but  that’s  no  his  right  name 
neither  — His  name  is But  what  is  your  busi- 

ness wi  his  name  ? ” said  she,  as  if  upon  sudden  re- 
collection. “ What  have  ye  to  do  asking  for  folk’s 
names  ? — Have  ye  a mind  I should  scour  my  knife 
between  your  ribs,  as  my  mother  says  ? ” 

As  this  was  spoken  with  a menacing  tone  and 
gesture,  Jeanie  hastened  to  protest  her  total  inno- 
cence of  purpose  in  the  accidental  question  which 
she  had.  asked,  and  Madge  Wildfire  went  on  some- 
what pacified. 

“Never  ask  folk’s  names,  Jeanie  — it’s  no  civil 
— I hae  seen  half-a-dozen  0’  folk  in  my  mother’s 
at  anes,  and  ne’er  ane  0’  them  ca’d  the  ither  by  his 
name  ; and  Daddie  Ratton  says,  it  is  the  most  un- 
civil thing  may  be,  because  the  bailie  bodies  are  aye 
asking  fashious  questions,  when  ye  saw  sic  a man, 
or  sic  a man ; and  if  ye  dinna  ken  their  names,  ye 
ken  there  can  be  nae  mair  speer’d  about  it.” 

In  what  strange  school,  thought  Jeanie  to  her- 
self, has  this  poor  creature  been  bred  up,  where 
such  remote  precautions  are  taken  against  the  pur- 
suits of  justice  ? What  would  my  father  or  Reu- 
ben Butler  think,  if  I were  to  tell  them  there  are 
sic  folk  in  the  world  ? And  to  abuse  the  simpli- 
city of  this  demented  creature  ! 0,  that  I were  but 

safe  at  hame  amang  mine  ain  leal  and  true  people ! 
and  I’ll  bless  God,  while  I have  breath,  that  placed 
me  amongst  those  who  live  in  His  fear,  and  under 
the  shadow  of  His  wing. 


92  TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 

She  was  interrupted  by  the  insane  laugh  of  Madge 
Wildfire,  as  she  saw  a magpie  hop  across  the  path. 

“ See  there  ! — that  was  the  gait  my  old  joe  used 
to  cross  the  country,  but  no  just  sae  lightly  he 
hadna  wings  to  help  his  auld  legs,  I trow , but  I 
behoved  to  have  married  him  for  a’  that,  Jeanie, 
or  my  mother  would  have  been  the  dead  o me.  But 
then  came  in  the  story  of  my  poor  bairn,  and  my 
mother  thought  he  wad  be  deaved  wi’  its  skirling, 
and  she  pat  it  away  in  below  the  bit  bourock  of 
turf  yonder,  just  to  be  out  o the  gate  ; and  I think 
she  buried  my  best  wits  with  it,  for  I have  never 
been  just  mysell  since.  And  only  think,  Jeanie,  after 
my  mother  had  been  at  a’  this  pains,  the  auld  doited 
body  Johnny  Drottle  turned  up  his  nose,  and 
wadna  hae  aught  to  say  to  me ! But  it  s little  I 
care  for  him,  for  I have  led  a merry  life  ever  since, 
and  ne’er  a braw  gentleman  looks  at  me  but  ye  wad  ; 
think  he  was  gaun  to  drop  off  his  horse  for  mere 
love  of  me.  I have  kend  some  o’  them  put  their  ’ 
hand  in  their  pocket,  and  gie  me  as  muckle  as  six- , 

pence  at  a time,  just  for  my  weel-faurd  face.” 

This  speech  gave  Jeanie  a dark  insight  into 
Madge’s  history.  She  had  been  courted  by  a 
wealthy  suitor,  whose  addresses  her  mother  had 
favoured,  notwithstanding  the  objection  of  old  age 
and  deformity.  She  had  been  seduced  by  some  pro-, 
fligate,  and,  to  conceal  her  shame  and  promote  the< 
advantageous  match  she  had  planned,  her  mother, 
had  not  hesitated  to  destroy  the  offspring  of  their 
intrigue.  That  the  consequence  should  be  the  to- 
tal derangement  of  a mind  which  was  constitution- 
ally unsettled  by  giddiness  and  vanity,  was  ex- 
tremely natural ; and  such  was,  in  fact,  the  history 
of  Madge  Wildfire’s  insanity. 


CHAPTER  VII. 


So  free  from  danger,  free  from  fear, 

They  cross’d  the  court  — right  glad  they  were. 

Christabel. 

Pursuing  the  path  which  Madge  had  chosen,  Jeanie 
Deans  observed,  to  her  no  small  delight,  that  marks 
of  more  cultivation  appeared,  and  the  thatched  roofs 
of  houses,  with  their  blue  smoke  arising  in  little 
columns,  were  seen  embosomed  in  a tuft  of  trees  at 
some  distance.  The  track  led  in  that  direction,  and 
Jeanie  therefore  resolved,  while  Madge  continued  to 
pursue  it,  that  she  would  ask  her  no  questions ; hav- 
ing had  the  penetration  to  observe,  that  by  doing  so 
she  ran  the  risk  of  irritating  her  guide,  or  awaken- 
ing suspicions,  to  the  impressions  of  which,  persons 
in  Madge’s  unsettled  state  of  mind  are  particularly 
liable. 

Madge  therefore,  uninterrupted,  went  on  with  the 
wild  disjointed  chat  which  her  rambling  imagination 
suggested ; a mood  in  which  she  was  much  more  com- 
municative respecting  her  own  history,  and  that  of 
others,  than  when  there  was  any  attempt  made,  by 
direct  queries,  or  cross-examinations,  to  extract  in- 
formation on  these  subjects. 

“ It’s  a queer  thing,”  she  said,  “ but  whiles  I can 
speak  about  the  bit  bairn  and  the  rest  of  it,  just  as 
if  it  had  been  another  body’s,  and  no  my  ain ; and 
whiles  I am  like  to  break  my  heart  about  it  — Had 
you  ever  a bairn,  Jeanie  ? ” 

Jeanie  replied  in  the  negative. ' 


94 


TALES  OE  MY  LANDLORD. 


“ Ay ; but  your  sister  had,  though  — and  I ken 
what  came  o’t  too.” 

“ In  the  name  of  heavenly  mercy,”  said  Jeanie, 
forgetting  the  line  of  conduct  which  she  had  hith- 
erto adopted,  “ tell  me  but  what  became  of  that  un- 
fortunate babe,  and  ” 

Madge  stopped,  looked  at  her  gravely  and  fixedly, 
and  then  broke  into  a great  fit  of  laughing  — “ Aha, 
lass, — catch  me  if  you  can  — - 1 think  it’s  easy  to  gar 
you  trow  ony  thing.  — How  suld  I ken  ony  thing  o’ 
your  sister’s  wean  ? Lasses  suld  hae  naething  to  do 
wi’  weans  till  they  are  married  — and  then  a’  the 
gossips  and  cummers  come  in  and  feast  as  if  it  were 
the  blithest  day  in  the  warld.  — - They  say  maidens’ 
bairns  are  weel  guided.  I wot  that  wasna  true  of 
your  tittie’s  and  mine ; but  these  are  sad  tales  to 
tell  — I maun  just  sing  a bit  to  keep  up  my  heart 
— It’s  a sang  that  Gentle  George  made  on  me  lang  ; 
syne,  when  I went  with  him  to  Lockington  wake, 
to  see  him  act  upon  a stage,  in  fine  clothes,  with 
the  player  folk.  He  might  have  dune  waur  than  , 
married  me  that  night  as  he  promised  — better  wed 
over  the  mixen  1 as  over  the  moor,  as  they  say  in 
Yorkshire  — he  may  gang  farther  and  fare  waur  — 
but  that’s  a’  ane  to  the  sang, 

4 I’m  Madge  of  the  country,  I’m  Madge  of  the  town, 

And  I’m  Madge  of  the  lad  I am  blithest  to  own  — 

The  Lady  of  Beever  in  diamonds  may  shine, 

But  has  not  a heart  half  so  lightsome  as  mine. 

4 1 am  Queen  of  the  Wake,  and  I’m  Lady  of  May, 

And  I lead  the. blithe  ring  round  the  May-pole  to-day; 

The  wild- fire  that  flashes  so  fair  and  so  free, 

Was  never  so  bright,  or  so  bonny,  as  me.’ 

1 A homely  proverb,  signifying,  better  wed  a neighbour  than  one 
fetched  from  a distance.  — Mixen  signifies  dunghill. 


THE  HEART  OE  MID-LOTlTIAN. 


95 


“ I like  that  the  best  o'  a'  my  sangs,”  continued  the 
maniac,  “ because  he  made  it.  I am  often  singing 
it,  and  that’s  maybe  the  reason  folk  ca’  me  Madge 
Wildfire.  I aye  answer  to  the  name,  though  it’s  no 
my  ain,  for  what’s  the  use  of  making  a fash  ? ” 

“ But  ye  shouldna  sing  upon  the  Sabbath  at 
least,”  said  Jeanie,  who,  amid  all  her  distress  and 
anxiety,  could  not  help  being  scandalized  at  the 
deportment  of  her  companion,  especially  as  they 
now  approached  near  to  the  little  village. 

“ Ay  ! is  this  Sunday  ? ” said  Madge.  “ My  mother 
leads  sic  a life,  wi’  turning  night  into  day,  that  ane 
loses  a’  count  o’  the  days  o’  the  week,  and  disna 
ken  Sunday  frae  Saturday.  Besides,  it’s  a’  your 
whiggery  — in  England,  folk  sing  when  they  like  — 
And  then,  ye  ken,  you  are  Christiana,  and  I am 
Mercy  — and  ye  ken,  as  they  went  on  their  way* 
they  sang.”  — And  she  immediately  raised  one  of 
John  Bunyan’s  ditties  : — 

“ He  that  is  down  need  fear  no  fall* 

He  that  is  low  no  pride  ; 

He  that  is  humble  ever  shall 
Have  God  to  be  his  guide. 

“ Fulness  to  such  a burthen  is 
That  go  on  pilgrimage  ; 

Here  little,  and  hereafter  bliss. 

Is  best  from  age  to  age. 

“And  do  ye  ken,  Jeanie,  I think  there's  much  truth 
in  that  book,  the  Pilgrim’s  Progress.  The  boy  that 
sings  that  song  was  feeding  his  father’s  sheep  in  the 
Valley  of  Humiliation,  and  Mr.  Great-Heart  says, 
that  he  lived  a merrier  life,  and  had  more  of  the 
herb  called  heart’s-ease  in  his  bosom,  than  they  that 


96 


TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 


wear  silk  and  velvet  like  me,  and  are  as  bonny  as  I 
am.” 

Jeanie  Deans  had  never  read  the  fanciful  and 
delightful  parable  to  which  Madge  alluded.  Bun- 
yan  was,  indeed,  a rigid  Calvinist,  but  then  he  was 
also  a member  of  a Baptist  congregation,  so  that  his 
works  had  no  place  on  David  Deans’s  shelf  of  di- 
vinity. Madge,  however,  at  some  time  of  her  life, 
had  been  well  acquainted,  as  it  appeared,  with  the 
most  popular  of  his  performances,  which,  indeed, 
rarely  fails  to  make  a deep  impression  upon  chil- 
dren, and  people  of  the  lower  rank. 

“I  am  sure,”  she  continued,  “ I may  weel  say  I 
am  come  out  of  the  city  of  Destruction,  for  my 
mother  is  Mrs.  Bat’s-eyes,  that  dwells  at  Deadman’s 
Corner  ; and  Frank  Levitt,  and  Tyburn  Tam,  they 
may  be  likened  to  Mistrust  and  Guilt,  that  came 
galloping  up,  and  struck  the  poor  pilgrim  to  the  j 
ground  with  a great  club,  and  stole  a bag  of  silver, 
which  was  most  of  his  spending  money,  and  so  have  . 
they  done  to  many,  and  will  do  to  more.  But  now  > 
we  will  gang  to  the  Interpreter’s  house,  for  I ken  a 
man  that  will  play  the  Interpreter  right  weel ; for 
he  has  eyes  lifted  up  to  heaven,  the  best  of  books  in 
his  hand,  the  law  of  truth  written  on  his  lips,  and  • 
he  stands  as  if  he  pleaded  wi’  men  — 0 if  I had 
minded  what  he  had  said  to  me,  I had  never  been  j 
the  cast-away  creature  that  I am ! — But  it  is  all 
over  now.  — But  we’ll  knock  at  the  gate,  and  then  ; 
the  keeper  will  admit  Christiana,  but  Mercy  will  be 
left  out  — and  then  I’ll  stand  at  the  door  trem- 
bling and  crying,  and  then  Christiana  — that’s  you, 
Jeanie  — will  intercede  for  me;  and  then  Mercy  — 
that’s  me,  ye  ken  — will  faint ; and  then  the  Inter- 
preter — yes,  the  Interpreter,  that’s  Mr.  Staunton 


THE  HEART  OE  MID-LOTHIAN. 


97 


himself,  will  come  out  and  take  me  — that's  poor, 
lost,  demented  me  — by  the  hand,  and  give  me  a 
pomegT  mate,  and  a piece  of  honeycomb,  and  a small 
bottle  of  spirits,  to  stay  my  fainting  — and  then  the 
good  times  will  come  back  again,  and  we’ll  be  the 
happiest  folk  you  ever  saw." 

In  the  midst  of  the  confused  assemblage  of  ideas 
indicated  in  this  speech,  Jeanie  thought  she  saw  a 
serious  purpose  on  the  part  of  Madge,  to  endea- 
vour to  obtain  the  pardon  and  countenance  of  some 
one  whom  she  had  offended  ; an  attempt  the  most 
likely  of  all  others  to  bring  them  once  more  into 
contact  with  law  and  legal  protection.  She,  there- 
fore, resolved  to  be  guided  by  her  while  she  was  in 
so  hopeful  a disposition,  and  act  for  her  own  safety 
according  to  circumstances. 

They  were  now  close  by  the  village,  one  of  those 
beautiful  scenes  which  are  so  often  found  in  merry 
England,  where  the  cottages,  instead  of  being  built 
in  two  direct  lines  on  each  side  of  a dusty  high- 
road, stand  in  detached  groups,  interspersed  not 
only  with  large  oaks  and  elms,  but  with  fruit-trees, 
so  many  of  which  were  at  this  time  in  flourish, 
that  the  grove  seemed  enamelled  with  their  crim- 
son and  white  blossoms.  In  the  centre  of  the  ham- 
let stood  the  parish  church  and  its  little  Gothic 
tower,  from  which  at  present  was  heard  the  Sunday 
chime  of  bells. 

“ We  will  wait  here  until  the  folk  are  a'  in  the 
church  — they  ca’  the  kirk  a church  in  England, 
Jeanie,  be  sure  you  mind  that  — for  if  I was  gaun 
forward  amang  them,  a'  the  gaitts  o'  boys  and 
lasses  wad  be  crying  at  Madge  Wildfire’s  tail,  the 
little  hellrakers  ! and  the  beadle  would  be  as  hard 
upon  us  as  if  it  was  our  fault.  I like  their  skirling 


98 


TALES  OE  MY  LANDLORD.. 


as  ill  as  he  does,  I can  tell  him  ; I’m  sure  I often 
wish  there  was  a het  peat  doun  their  throats  when 
they  set  them  up  that  gate/’ 

Conscious  of  the  disorderly  appearance  of  her 
own  dress  after  the  adventure  of  the  preceding  night, 
and  of  the  grotesque  habit  and  demeanour  of  her 
guide,  and  sensible  how  important  it  was  to  secure 
an  attentive  and  patient  audience  to  her  strange 
story  from  some  one  who  might  have  the  means  to 
protect  her,  Jeanie  readily  acquiesced  in  Madge’s 
proposal  to  rest  under  the  trees,  by  which  they  were 
still  somewhat  screened,  until  the  commencement 
of  service  should  give  them  an  opportunity  of  enter- 
ing the  hamlet  without  attracting  a crowd  around 
them.  She  made  the  less  opposition,  that  Madge 
had  intimated  that  this  was  not  the  village  where 
her  mother  was  in  custody,  and  that  the  two  squires 
of  the  pad  were  absent  in  a different  direction. 

She  sate  herself  down,  therefore,  at  the  foot  of 
an  oak,  and  by  the  assistance  of  a placid  fountain 
which  had  been  dammed  up  for  the  use  of  the  vil-  . 
lagers,  and  which  served  her  as  a natural  mirror, 
she  began— no  uncommon 'thing  with  a Scottish 
maiden  of  her  rank  — to  arrange  her  toilette  in  the 
open  air,  and  bring  her  dress,  soiled  and  disordered 
as  it  was,  into  such  order  as  the  place  and  circum- 
stances admitted.  < 

She  soon  perceived  reason,  however,  to  regret 
that  she  had  set  about  this  task,  however  decent  and  \ 
necessary,  in  the  present  time  and  society.  Madge 
Wildfire,  who,  among  other  indications  of  insanity, 
had  a most  overweening  opinion  of  those  charms, 
to  which,  in  fact,  she  had  owed  her  misery,  and 
whose  mind,  like  a raft  upon  a lake,  was  agitated 
and  driven  about  at  random  by  each  fresh  impulse, 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN. 


99 


no  sooner  beheld  Jeanie  begin  to  arrange  her  hair, 
place  her  bonnet  in  order,  rub  the  dust  from  her 
shoes  and  clothes,  adjust  her  neck -handkerchief 
and  mittens,  and  so  forth,  than  witli  imitative  zeal 
she  began  to  bedizen  and  trick  herself  out  with 
shreds  and  remnants  of  beggarly  finery,  which  she 
took  out  of  a little  bundle,  and  which,  when  dis- 
posed around  her  person,  made  her  appearance  ten 
times  more  fantastic  and  apish  than  it  had  been 
before. 

Jeanie  groaned  in  spirit,  but  dared  not  interfere 
in  a matter  so  delicate.  Across  the  man’s  cap  or 
riding  hat  which  she  wore,  Madge  placed  a broken 
and  soiled  white  feather,  intersected  with  one  which 
had  been  shed  from  the  train  of  a peacock.  To  her 
dress,  which  was  a kind  of  riding-habit,  she  stitched, 
pinned,  and  otherwise  secured,  a large  furbelow  of 
artificial  flowers,  all  crushed,  wrinkled,  and  dirty, 
which  had  first  bedecked  a lady  of  quality,  then 
descended  to  her  Abigail,  and  dazzled  the  inmates 
of  the  servants’-hall.  A tawdry  scarf  of  yellow 
silk,  trimmed  with  tinsel  and  spangles,  which  had 
seen  as  hard  service,  and  boasted  as  honourable  a 
transmission,  was  next  flung  over  one  shoulder,  and 
fell  across  her  person  in  the  manner  of  a shoulder- 
belt,  or  baldrick.  Madge  then  stripped  off  the 
coarse  ordinary  shoes  which  she  wore,  and  replaced 
them  by  a pair  of  dirty  satin  ones,  spangled  and 
embroidered  to  match  the  scarf,  and  furnished  with 
very  high  heels.  She  had  cut  a willow  switch  in 
her  morning  s walk,  almost  as  long  as  a boy’s  fish- 
ing-rod. This  she  set  herself  seriously  to  peel,  and 
when  it  was  transformed  into  such  a wand  as  the 
Treasurer  or  High  Steward  bears  on  public  occa- 
sions, she  told  Jeanie  that  she  thought  they  now 


loo 


TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 


looked  decent,  as  young  women  should  do  upon 
the  Sunday  morning,  and  that  as  the  bells  had  done 
ringing,  she  was  willing  to  conduct  her  to  the  In- 
terpreter’s house. 

Jeanie  sighed  heavily,  to  think  it  should  be  her 
lot  on  the  Lord’s  day,  and  during  kirk-time  too,  to 
parade  the  street  of  an  inhabited  village  with  so 
very  grotesque  a comrade  ; but  necessity  had  no 
law,  since,  without  a positive  quarrel  with  the  mad- 
woman, which,  in  the  circumstances,  would  have 
been  very  unadvisable,  she  could  see  no  means  of 
shaking  herself  free  of  her  society. 

As  for  poor  Madge,  she  was  completely  elated 
with  personal  vanity,  and  the  most  perfect  satisfac- 
tion concerning  her  own  dazzling  dress,  and  supe- 
rior appearance.  They  entered  the  hamlet  without 
being  observed,  except  by  one  old  woman,  who,  be- 
ing nearly  “ high-gravel  blind,”  was  only  conscious 
that  something  very  fine  and  glittering  was  passing 
by,  and  dropped  as  deep  a reverence  to  Madge  as 
she  would  have  done  to  a Countess.  This  filled 
up  the  measure  of  Madge’s  self-approbation.  She 
minced,  she  ambled,  she  smiled,  she  simpered,  and 
waved  Jeanie  Deans  forward  with  the  condescension 
of  a noble  chaperone , who  has  undertaken  the  charge 
of  a country  miss  on  her  first  journey  to  the  capital. 

Jeanie  followed  in  patience,  and  with  her  eyes, 
fixed  on  the  ground,  that  she  might  save  herself 
the  mortification  of  seeing  her  companion’s  absurdi- 
ties ; but  she  started  when,  ascending  two  or  three 
steps,  she  found  herself  in  the  churchyard,  and  saw 
that  Madge  was  making  straight  for  the  door  of  the 
church.  As  Jeanie  had  no  mind  to  enter  the  con- 
gregation in  such  company,  she  walked  aside  from 
the  pathway,  and  said  in  a decided  tone,  “ Madge,  I 


THE  HEART  OE  MID-LOTHIAN. 


IOI 


will  wait  here  till  the  church  comes  out  — you  may 
go  in  by  yourself  if  you  have  a mind.” 

As  she  spoke  these  words,  she  was  about  to  seat 
herself  upon  one  of  the  gravestones. 

Madge  was  a little  before  Jeanie  when  she  turned 
aside  ; but  suddenly  changing  her  course,  she  followed 
her  with  long  strides,  and,  with  every  feature  inflamed 
with  passion,  overtook  and  seized  her  by  the  arm. 
“ Do  ye  think,  ye  ungratefu’  wretch,  that  I am  gaun 
to  let  you  sit  doun  upon  my  father’s  grave  ? The 
deil  settle  ye  doun;  — if  ye  dinnarise  and  come  into 
the  Interpreter’s  house,  that’s  the  house  of  God,  wi’ 
me,  but  I’ll  rive  every  dud  aff  your  back  ! ” 

She  adapted  the  action  to  the  phrase ; for  with 
one  clutch  she  stripped  Jeanie  of  her  straw  bonnet 
and  a handful  of  her  hair  to  boot,  and  threw  it  up 
into  an  old  yew  tree,  where  it  stuck  fast.  Jeanie’s 
first  impulse  was  to  scream,  but  conceiving  she 
might  receive  deadly  harm  before  she  could  obtain 
the  assistance  of  any  one,  notwithstanding  the  vi- 
cinity of  the  church,  she  thought  it  wiser  to  follow 
the  madwoman  into  the  congregation,  where  she 
might  find  some  means  of  escape  from  her,  or  at 
least  be  secured  against  her  violence.  But  when 
she  meekly  intimated  her  consent  to  follow  Madge, 
her  guide’s  uncertain  brain  had  caught  another 
train  of  ideas.  She  held  Jeanie  fast  with  one  hand, 
and  with  the  other  pointed  to  the  inscription  on  the 
gravestone,  and  commanded  her  to  read  it.  Jeanie 
obeyed,  and  read  these  words  : — 

“ This  Monument  was  erected  to  the  Memory  of  Don- 
ald Murdockson  of  the  King’s  xxvi.,  or  Cameronian 
Regiment,  a sincere  Christian,  a brave  Soldier,  and  a 
faithful  Servant,  by  his  grateful  and  sorrowing  Master, 
Robert  Staunton.” 


102 


TALES  0E  MY  LANDLORD. 


“It’s  very  weel  read,  Jeanie ; it’s  just  the  very 
words,”  said  Madge,  whose  ire  had'  now  faded  into 
deep  melancholy,  and  with  a step,  which,  to  Jeanie’s 
great  joy,  was  uncommonly  quiet  and  mournful,  she 
led  her  companion  towards  the  door  of  the  church. 

It  was  one  of  those  old-fashioned  Gothic  parish 
churches  which  are  frequent  in  England,  the  most 
cleanly,  decent,  and  reverential  places  of  worship 
that  are,  perhaps,  anywhere  to  be  found  in  the 
Christian  world.  * Yet,  notwithstanding  the  decent 
solemnity  of  its  exterior,  Jeanie  was  too  faithful  to 
the  directory  of  the  presbyterian  kirk  to  have  en- 
tered a prelatic  place  of  worship,  and  would,  upon 
any  other  occasion,  have  thought  that  she  beheld  in 
the  porch  the  venerable  figure  of  her  father  waving 
her  back  from  the  entrance,  and  pronouncing  in  a 
solemn  tone,  “ Cease,  my  child,  to  hear  the  instruc- 
tion which  causeth  to  err  from  the  words  of  know- J 
ledge.”  But  in  her  present  agitating  and  alarming 
situation,  she  looked  for  safety  to  this  forbidden 
place  of  assembly,  as  the  hunted  animal  will  some-; 
times  seek  shelter  from  imminent  danger  in  the 
human  habitation,  or  in  other  places  of  refuge  most 
alien  to  its  nature  and  habits.  Not  even  the  sound 
of  the  organ,  and  of  one  or  two  flutes  which  accom- 
panied the  psalmody,  prevented  her  from  following 
her  guide  into  the  chancel  of  the  church, 

No  sooner  had  Madge  put  her  foot  upon  the' 
pavement,  and  become  sensible  that  she  was  thej 
object  of  attention  to  the  spectators,  than  she  re- 
sumed all  the  fantastic  extravagance  of  deportment 
which  some  transient  touch  of  melancholy  had  ban- 
ished for  an  instant.  She  swam  rather  than  walked 
up  the  centre  aisle,  dragging  J eanie  after  her,  whom 
she  held  fast  by  the  hand.  She  would,  indeed, 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN.  103 

have  fain  slipped  aside  into  the  pew  nearest  to  the 
door,  and  left  Madge  to  ascend  in  her  own  manner 
and  alone  to  the  high  places  of  the  synagogue ; but 
this  was  impossible,  without  a degree  of  violent 
resistance,  which  seemed  to  her  inconsistent  with  the 
time  and  place,  and  she  was  accordingly  led  in  cap- 
tivity up  the  whole  length  of  the  church  by  her 
grotesque  conductress,  who,  with  half-shut  eyes,  a 
prim  smile  upon  her  lips,  and  a mincing  motion 
with  her  hands,  which  corresponded  with  the  deli- 
cate and  affected  pace  at  which  she  was  pleased 
to  move,  seemed  to  take  the  general  stare  of  the 
congregation,  which  such  an  exhibition  necessarily 
excited,  as  a high  compliment,  and  which  she  re- 
turned by  nods  and  half  curtsies  to  individuals 
amongst  the  audience,  whom  she  seemed  to  distin- 
guish as  acquaintances.  Her  absurdity  was  en- 
hanced in  the  eyes  of  the  spectators  by  the  strange 
contrast  which  she  formed  to  her  companion,  who, 
with  dishevelled  hair,  downcast  eyes,  and  a face 
glowing  with  shame,  was  dragged,  as  it  were,  in 
triumph  after  her. 

Madge’s  airs  were  at  length  fortunately  cut  short 
by  her  encountering  in  her  progress  the  looks  of 
the  clergyman,  who  fixed  upon  her  a glance,  at  once 
steady,  compassionate,  and  admonitory.  She  has- 
tily opened  an  empty  pew  which  happened  to  be 
near  her,  and  entered,  dragging  in  Jeanie  after  her. 
Kicking  Jeanie  on  the  shins,  by  way  of  hint  that 
she  should  follow  her  example,  she  sunk  her  head 
upon  her  hand  for  the  space  of  a minute.  Jeanie, 
to  whom  this  posture  of  mental  devotion  was  en- 
tirely new,  did  not  attempt  to  do  the  like,  but 
looked  round  her  with  a bewildered  stare,  which 
her  neighbours,  judging  from  the  company  in  which 


104 


TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 


they  saw  her,  very  naturally  ascribed  to  insanity 
Every  person  in  their  immediate  vicinity  drew  back 
from  this  extraordinary  couple  as  far  as  the  limits 
of  their  pew  permitted ; but  one  old  man  could  not 
get  beyond  Madge's  reach,  ere  she  had  snatched  the 
prayer-book  from  his  hand,  and  ascertained  the 
lesson  of  the  day.  She  then  turned  up  the  ritual, 
and,  with  the  most  overstrained  enthusiasm  of  ges- 
ture and  manner,  showed  Jeanie  the  passages  as 
they  were  read  in  the  service,  making,  at  the  same 
time,  her  own  responses  so  loud  as  to  be  heard 
above  those  of  every  other  person. 

Notwithstanding  the  shame  and  vexation  which 
Jeanie  felt  in  being  thus  exposed  in  a place  of  wor- 
ship, she  could  not  and  durst  not  omit  rallying  her 
spirits  so  as  to  look  around  her,  and  consider  to 
whom  she  ought  to  appeal  for  protection  so  soon 
as  the  service  should  be  concluded.  Her  first  ideas 
naturally  fixed  upon  the  clergyman,  and  she  was 
confirmed  in  the  resolution  by  observing  that  he 
was  an  aged  gentleman,  of  a dignified  appearance  ! 
and  deportment,  who  read  the  service  with  an  un- 
disturbed and  decent  gravity,  which  brought  back 
to  becoming  attention  those  younger  members  of 
the  congregation  who  had  been  disturbed  by  the 
extravagant  behaviour  of  Madge  Wildfire.  To  the 
clergyman,  therefore,  Jeanie  resolved  to  make  her 
appeal  when  the  service  was  over. 

It  is  true  she  felt  disposed  to  be  shocked  at  his 
surplice,  of  which  she  had  heard  so  much,  but  which 
she  had  never  seen  upon  the  person  of  a preacher 
of  the  word.  Then  she  was  confused  by  the  change 
of  posture  adopted  in  different  parts  of  the  ritual, 
the  more  so  as  Madge  Wildfire,  to  whom  they  seemed 
familiar,  took  the  opportunity  to  exercise  authority 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN.  105 

over  her,  pulling  her  up  and  pushing  her  down 
with  a bustling  assiduity,  which  Jeanie  felt  must 
make  them  both  the  objects  of  painful  attention. 
But  notwithstanding  these  prejudices,  it  was  her 
prudent  resolution,  in  this  dilemma,  to  imitate  as 
nearly  as  she  could  what  was  done  around  her.  The 
prophet,  she  thought,  permitted  Naaman  the  Syrian 
to  bow  even  in  the  house  of  Rimmon.  Surely  if 
I,  in  this  streight,  worship  the  God  of  my  fathers 
in  mine  own  language,  although  the  manner  thereof 
be  strange  to  me,  the  Lord  will  pardon  me  in  this 
thing. 

In  this  resolution  she  became  so  much  confirmed, 
that,  withdrawing  herself  from  Madge  as  far  as  the 
pew  permitted,  she  endeavoured  to  evince,  by  se- 
rious and  undeviating  attention  to  what  was  passing, 
that  her  mind  was  composed  to  devotion.'  Her  tor- 
mentor would  not  long  have  permitted  her  to  re- 
main quiet,  but  fatigue  overpowered  her,  and  she 
fell  fast  asleep  in  the  other  corner  of  the  pew. 

Jeanie,  though  her  mind  in  her  own  despite  some- 
times reverted  to  her  situation,  compelled  herself 
to  give  attention  to  a sensible,  energetic,  and  well- 
composed  discourse,  upon  the  practical  doctrines  of 
Christianity,  which  she  could  not  help  approving, 
although  it  was  every  word  written  down  and  read 
by  the  preacher,  and  although  it  was  delivered  in 
a tone  and  gesture  very  different  from  those  of 
Boanerges  Stormheaven,  who  was  her  father's  fa- 
vourite preacher.  The  serious  and  placid  attention 
with  which  Jeanie  listened,  did  not  escape  the 
clergyman.  Madge  Wildfire’s  entrance  had  ren- 
dered him  apprehensive  of  some  disturbance,  to  pro- 
vide against  which,  as  far  as  possible,  he  often  turned 
his  eyes  to  the  part  of  the  church  where  Jeanie 


io6 


TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 


and  she  were  placed,  and  became  soon  aware  that, 
although  the  loss  of  her  head-gear,  and  the  awk- 
wardness of  her  situation,  had  given  an  uncommon 
and  anxious  air  to  the  features  of  the  former,  yet 
she  was  in  a state  of  mind  very  different  from  that 
of  her  companion.  When  he  dismissed  the  con- 
gregation, he  observed  her  look  around  with  a wild 
and  terrified  look,  as  if  uncertain  what  course  she 
ought  to  adopt,  and  noticed  that  she  approached 
one  or  two  of  the  most  decent  of  the  congregation, 
as  if  to  address  them,  and  then  shrunk  back  timidly, 
on  observing  that  they  seemed  to  shun  and  to 
avoid  her.  The  clergyman  was  satisfied  there  must 
be  something  extraordinary  in  all  this,  and  as  a 
benevolent  man,  as  well  as  a good  Christian  pas- 
tor, he  resolved  to  enquire  into  the  matter  more 
minutely. 


i 

* 


V* 

CHAPTER  VIII. 

There  govern’d  in  that  year 

A stern,  stout  churl  — an  angry  overseer. 

Crabbel. 

While  Mr.  Staunton,  for  such  was  this  worthy 
clergyman’s  name,  was  laying  aside  his  gown  in  the 
vestry,  Jeanie  was  in  the  act  of  coming  to  an  open 
rupture  with  Madge. 

“We  must  return  to  Mummer’s  barn  directly,” 
said  Madge ; “ we’ll  be  ower  late,  and  my  mother 
will  be  angry.” 

“ I am  not  going  back  with  you,  Madge,”  said 
Jeanie,  taking  out  a guinea,  and  offering  it  to  her; 
“ I am  much  obliged  to  you,  but  I maun  gang  my 
ain  road.” 

“And  me  coming  a’  this  way  out  o’  my  gate  to 
pleasure  you,  ye  ungratefu’  cutty,”  answered  Madge  ; 
“and  me  to  be  brained  by  my  mother  when  I gang 
hame,  and  a’  for  your  sake  ! — But  I will  gar  ye  as 
good  ” 

“For  God’s  sake,”  said  Jeanie  to  a man  who 
stood  beside  them, “keep  her  off!  — she  is  mad.” 

“ Ey,  ey,”  answered  the  boor ; “ I hae  some  guess 
of  that,  and  I trow  thou  be’st  a bird  of  the  same 
feather.  — Howsomever,  Madge,  I redd  thee  keep 
hand  off  her,  or  I’se  lend  thee  a whister-poop.” 

Several  of  the  lower  class  of  the  parishioners 
now  gathered  round  the  strangers,  and  the  cry 
arose  among  the  boys,  that  “ there  was  a-going  to 


io8  TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 

be  a fite  between  mad  Madge  Murdockson  and 
another  Bess  of  Bedlam.”  But  while  the  fry  as- 
sembled with  the  humane  hope  of  seeing  as  much 
of  the  fun  as  possible,  the  laced  cocked-hat  of  the 
beadle  was  discerned  among  the  multitude,  and  all 
made  w~ay  for  that  person  of  awful  authority.  His 
first  address  was  to  Madge. 

“ What’s  brought  thee  back  again,  thou  silly 
donnot,  to  plague  this  parish  ? Hast  thou  brought 
ony  more  bastards  wi’  thee  to  lay  to  honest  men’s 
doors  ? or  does  thou  think  to  burden  us  with  this 
goose,  that’s  as  gare-brained  as  thysell,  as  if  rates 
were  no  up  enow  ? Away  wi’  thee  to  thy  thief  of 
a mother ; she’s  fast  in  the  stocks  at  Barkston 
town-end  — Away  wi’  ye  out  o’  the  parish,  or  I’se 
be  at  ye  with  the  ratan.” 

Madge  stood  sulky  for  a minute ; but  she  had 
been  too  often  taught  submission  to  the  beadle’s 
authority  by  ungentle  means,  to  feel  courage  enough 
to  dispute  it. 

“ And  my  mother  — my  puir  auld  mother,  is  in  i 
the  stocks  at  Barkston  ! — This  is  a1  your  wy te, 
Miss  Jeanie  Deans ; but  I’ll  be  upsides  wi’  you,  as 
sure  as  my  name’s  Madge  Wildfire  — I mean  Mur- 
dockson — God  help  me,  I forget  my  very  name  in 
this  confused  waste  ! ” 

So  saying,  she  turned  upon  her  heel,  and  went 
off,  followed  by  all  the  mischievous  imps  of  the  vil-  ■ 
lage,  some  crying,  “ Madge,  canst  thou  tell  thy 
name  yet?”  some  pulling  the  skirts  of  her  dress, 
and  all,  to  the  best  of  their  strength  and  ingenuity, 
exercising  some  new  device  or  other  to  exasperate 
her  into  frenzy. 

Jeanie  saw  her  departure  with  infinite  delight, 
though  she  wished,  that,  in  some  way  or  other,  she 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN.  109 

could  have  requited  the  service  Madge  had  con- 
ferred upon  her. 

In  the  meantime,  she  applied  to  the  beadle  to 
know,  whether  “ there  was  any  house  in  the  vil- 
lage, where  she  could  be  civilly  entertained  for  her 
money,  and  whether  she  could  be  permitted  to 
speak  to  the  clergyman  ? ” 

“ Ay,  ay,  we’se  ha’  reverend  care  on  thee ; and  I 
think/’  answered  the  man  of  constituted  authority, 
“ that,  unless  thou  answer  the  Rector  all  the  better, 
we’se  spare  thy  money,  and  gie  thee  lodging  at  the 
parish  charge,  young  woman.” 

“ Where  am  I to  go  then  ? ” said  Jeanie,  in  some 
alarm. 

“ Why,  I am  to  take  thee  to  his  Reverence,  in 
the  first  place,  to  gie  an  account  o’  thysell,  and  to 
see  thou  comena  to  be  a burden  upon  the  parish.” 

“I  do  not  wish  to  burden  any  one,”  replied 
Jeanie;  “ I have  enough  for  my  own  wants,  and 
only  wish  to  get  on  my  journey  safely.” 

“ Why  that’s  another  matter,”  replied  the  beadle, 
“ an  if  it  be  true  — and  I think  thou  dost  not 
look  so  polrumptious  as  thy  playfellow  yonder ; — 
thou  wouldst  be  a mettle  lass  enow,  an  thou  wert 
snog  and  snod  a bit  better.  Come  thou  away,  then 
— the  Rector  is  a good  man.” 

“ Is  that  the  minister,”  said  Jeanie,  “ who 
preached  ” 

“ The  minister  ? Lord  help  thee  ! What  kind 
0’  presbyterian  art  thou  ? — Why,  ’tis  the  Rector  — 
the  Rector’s  sell,  woman,  and  there  isna  the  like  o’ 
him  in  the  county,  nor  the  four  next  to  it.  Come 
away  — away  with  thee  — we  munna  bide  here.” 

“ I am  sure  I am  very  willing  to  go  to  see  the 
minister,”  said  Jeanie;  “for,  though  he  read  his 


iio 


TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 


discourse,  and  wore  that  surplice,  as  they  call  it 
here,  I cannot  but  think  he  must  be  a very  worthy 
God-fearing  man,  to  preach  the  root  of  the  matter 
in  the  way  he  did.” 

The  disappointed  rabble,  finding  that  there  was 
like  to  be  no  farther  sport,  had  by  this  time  dis- 
persed, and  Jeanie,  with  her  usual  patience,  fol- 
lowed her  consequential  and  surly,  but  not  brutal, 
conductor  towards  the  rectory. 

This  clerical  mansion  was  large  and  commodious, 
for  the  living  was  an  excellent  one,  and  the  advow* 
son  belonged  to  a very  wealthy  family  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood, who  had  usually  bred  up  a son  or  nephew 
to  the  church,  for  the  sake  of  inducting  him,  as  op- 
portunity offered,  into  this  very  comfortable  provi- 
sion. In  this  manner  the  rectory  of  Willingham  had 
always  been  considered  as  a direct  and  immediate 
appanage  of  Willingham-hall;  and  as  the  rich  baro-  j 
nets  to  whom  the  latter  belonged  had  usually  a son, 
or  brother,  or  nephew,  settled  in  the  living,  the 
utmost  care  had  been  taken  to  render  their  habi-  * 
tation  not  merely  respectable  and  commodious,  but 
even  dignified  and  imposing. 

It  was  situated  about  four  hundred  yards  from 
the  village,  and  on  a rising  ground  which  sloped 
gently  upward,  covered  with  small  enclosures,  or 
closes,  laid  out  irregularly,  so  that  the  old  oaks  and  - 
elms,  which  were  planted  in  hedge-rows,  fell  into 
perspective,  and  were  blended  together  in  beautiful  j 
irregularity.  When  they  approached  nearer  to  the 
house,  a handsome  gate-way  admitted  them  into  a 
lawn,  of  narrow  dimensions,  indeed,  but  which  was 
interspersed  with  large  sweet-chestnut  trees  and 
beeches,  and  kept  in  handsome  order.  The  front 
of  the  house  was  irregular.  Part  of  it  seemed  very 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN. 


1 1.1 


old,  and  had,  in  fact,  been  the  residence  of  the  in- 
cumbent in  Romish  times.  Successive  occupants 
had  made  considerable  additions  and  improvements, 
each  in  the  taste  of  his  own  age,  and  without  much 
regard  to  symmetry.  But  these  incongruities  of 
architecture  were  so  graduated  and  happily  min- 
gled, that  the  eye,  far  from  being  displeased  with 
the  combinations  of  various  styles,  saw  nothing  but 
what  was  interesting  in  the  varied  and  intricate  pile 
which  they  exhibited.  Fruit-trees  displayed  on  the 
southern  wall,  outer  staircases,  various  places  of 
entrance,  a combination  of  roofs  and  chimneys  of 
different  ages,  united  to  render  the  front,  not  in- 
deed beautiful  or  grand,  but  intricate,  perplexed,  or, 
to  use  Mr.  Price’s  appropriate  phrase,  picturesque. 
The  most  considerable  addition  was  that  of  the 
present  Rector,  who,  “ being  a bookish  man,”  as  the 
beadle  was  at  the  pains  to  inform  Jeanie,  to  augment, 
perhaps,  her  reverence  for  the  person  before  whom 
she  was  to  appear,  had  built  a handsome  library  and 
parlour,  and  no  less  than  two  additional  bedrooms. 

“Mony  men  would  hae  scrupled  such  expense,” 
continued  the  parochial  officer,  “ seeing  as  the  living 
mun  go  as  it  pleases  Sir  Edmund  to  will  it;  but  his 
Reverence  has  a canny  bit  land  of  his  own,  and  need 
not  look  on  two  sides  of  a penny.” 

Jeanie  could  not  help  comparing  the  irregular 
yet  extensive  and  commodious  pile  of  building  be- 
fore her,  to  the  “ Manses”  in  her  own  country, 
where  a set  of  penurious  heritors,  professing  all 
the  while  the  devotion  of  their  “lives  and  fortunes 
to  the  presbyterian  establishment,  strain  their  in- 
ventions to  discover  what  may  be  nipped,  and 
clipped,  and  pared  from  a building  which  forms 
but  a poor  accommodation  even  for  the  present 


TT2 


TALES  OE  MY  LANDLORD. 


incumbent,  and,  despite  the  superior  advantage  of 
stone-masonry,  must,  in  the  course  of  forty  or  fifty 
years,  again  burden  their  descendants  with  an  ex- 
pense, which,  once  liberally  and  handsomely  em- 
ployed, ought  to  have  freed  their  estates  from  a 
recurrence  of  it  for  more  than  a century  at  least. 

Behind  the  Rector’s  house  the  ground  sloped 
down  to  a small  river,  which,  without  possessing 
the  romantic  vivacity  and  rapidity  of  a northern 
stream,  was,  nevertheless,  by  its  occasional  appear- 
ance through  the  ranges  of  willows  and  poplars  that 
crowned  its  banks,  a very  pleasing  accompaniment 
to  the  landscape.  “ It  was  the  best  trouting  stream,” 
said  the  beadle,  whom  the  patience  of  Jeanie,  and 
especially  the  assurance  that  she  was  not  about  to 
become  a burden  to  the  parish,  had  rendered  rather 
communicative,  “ the  best  trouting  stream  in  all 
Lincolnshire ; for  when  you  got  lower,  there  was  ; 
nought  to  be  done  wi’  fly-fishing.” 

Turning  aside  from  the  principal  entrance,  he 
conducted  Jeanie  towards  a sort  of  portal  con-  : 
nected  with  the  older  part  of  the  building,  which 
was  chiefly  occupied  by  servants,  and  knocking  at 
the  door,  it  was  opened  by  a servant  in  grave  pur- 
ple livery,  such  as  befitted  a wealthy  and  dignified 
clergyman. 

“ How  dost  do,  Tummas  ? ” said  the  beadle  — I 
“ and  how’s  young  Measter  Staunton  ? ” 

“ Why,  but  poorly  — but  poorly,  Measter  Stubbs,  j 
— Are  you  wanting  to  see  his  Reverence  ? ” 

“ Ay,  ay,  Tumm’as  ; please  to  say  I ha’  brought 
up  the  young  woman  as  came  to  service  to-day 
with  mad  Madge  Murdockson  — she  seems  to  be 
a decentish  koind  o’  body;  but  I ha’  asked  her 
uever  a question.  Only  I can  tell  his  Reverence 


THE  HEART  OE  MID-LOTHIAN.  113 

that  she  is  a Scotchwoman,  I judge,  and  as  flat  as 
the  fens  of  Holland/' 

Tummas  honoured  Jeanie  Deans  with  such  a 
stare,  as  the  pampered  domestics  of  the  rich, 
whether  spiritual  or  temporal,  usually  esteem  it 
part  of  their  privilege  to  bestow  upon  the  poor, 
and  then  desired  Mr.  Stubbs  and  his  charge  to  step 
in  till  he  informed  his  master  of  their  presence. 

The  room  into  which  he  showed  them  was  a sort 
of  steward’s  parlour,  hung  with  a county  map  or 
two,  and  three  or  four  prints  of  eminent  persons 
connected  with  the  county,  as  Sir  William  Monson, 
James  York  the  blacksmith  of  Lincoln,  and  the 
famous  Peregrine,  Lord  Willoughby,  in  complete 
armour,  looking  as  when  he  said,  in  the  words  of 
the  legend  below  the  engraving, — 

“ Stand  to  it,  noble  pikemen, 

And  face  ye  well  about  : 

And  shoot  ye  sharp,  bold  bowmen, 

And  we  will  keep  them  out. 

Ye  musquet  and  calliver-men, 

Do  you  prove  true  to  me, 

I’ll  be  the  foremost  man  in  fight, 

Said  brave  Lord  Willoughbee.” 

When  they  had  entered  this  apartment,  Tummas 
as  a matter  of  course  offered,  and  as  a matter  of 
course  Mr.  Stubbs  accepted,  a “summat”  to  eat 
and  drink,  being  the  respectable  relics  of  a gam- 
mon of  bacon,  and  a whole  whiskin,  or  black  pot  of 
sufficient  double  ale.  To  these  eatables  Mr.  Beadle 
seriously  inclined  himself,  and  (for  we  must  do  him 
justice)  not  without  an  invitation  to  Jeanie,  in  which 
Tummas  joined,  that  his  prisoner  or  charge  would 
follow  his  good  example.  But  although  she  might 
have  stood  in  need  of  refreshment,  considering  she 


TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 


114 

had  tasted  no  food  that  day,  the  anxiety  A the 
moment,  her  own  sparing  and  abstemious  habits, 
and  a bashful  aversion  to  eat  in  company  of  the 
two  strangers,  induced  her  to  decline  their  courtesy. 

So  she  sate  in  a chair  apart,  while  Mr.  Stubbs  and 
Mr.  Tummas,  who  had  chosen  to  join  his  friend  in 
consideration  that  dinner  was  to  be  put  back  till 
the  afternoon  service  was  over,  made  a hearty 
luncheon,  which  lasted  for  half  an  hour,  and  might 
not  then  have  concluded,  had  not  his  Reverence 
rung  his  bell,  so  that  Tummas  was  obliged  to  at- 
tend his  master.  Then,  and  no  sooner,  to  save 
himself  the  labour  of  a second  journey  to  the  other 
end  of  the  house,  he  announced  to  his  master  the 
arrival  of  Mr.  Stubbs,  with  the  other  madwoman, 
as  he  chose  to  designate  Jeanie,  as  an  event  which 
had  just  taken  place.  He  returned  with  an  order 
that  Mr.  Stubbs  and  the  young  woman  should  be  1 
instantly  ushered  up  to  the  library. 

The  beadle  bolted  in  haste  his  last  mouthful  of  j 
fat  bacon,  washed  down  the  greasy  morsel  with  the  • 
last  rinsings  of  the  pot  of  ale,  and  immediately 
marshalled  Jeanie  through  one  or  two  intricate 
passages  which  led  from  the  ancient  to  the  more 
modern  buildings,  into  a handsome  little  hall,  or 
anteroom,  adjoining  to  the  library,  and  out  of 
which  a glass  door  opened  to  the  lawn. 

“ Stay  here,”  said  Stubbs,  “ till  I tell  his  Reverence 
you  are  come.” 

So  saying,  he  opened  a door  and  entered  the  library. 

Without  wishing  to  hear  their  conversation, 
Jeanie,  as  she  was  circumstanced,  could  not  avoid 
it ; for  as  Stubbs  stood  by  the  door,  and  his  Rever- 
ence was  at  the  upper  end  of  a large  room,  their  con- 
versation was  necessarily  audible  in  the  anteroom. 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN.  115 

“ So  you  have  brought  the  young  woman  here  at 
last,  Mr.  Stubbs.  I expected  you  some  time  since. 
You  know  I do  not  wish  such  persons  to  remain  in 
custody  a moment  without  some  enquiry  into  their 
situation.” 

“ Very  true,  your  Reverence,”  replied  the  bea- 
dle ; “ but  the  young  woman  had  eat  nought  to-day, 
and  soa  Measter  Tummas  did  set  down  a drap  of 
drink  and  a morsel,  to  be  sure.” 

“ Thomas  was  very  right,  Mr.  Stubbs ; and  what 
has  become  of  the  other  most  unfortunate  being  ? ” 

“ Why,”  replied  Mr.  Stubbs,  “ I did  think  the 
sight  on  her  would  but  vex  your  Reverence,  and 
soa  I did  let  her  go  her  ways  back  to  her  mother, 
who  is  in  trouble  in  the  next  parish.” 

“ In  trouble! — that  signifies  in  prison,  I sup- 
pose ? ” said  Mr.  Staunton. 

“ Ay,  truly ; something  like  it,  an  it  like  your 
Reverence.” 

“ Wretched,  unhappy,  incorrigible  woman  ! ” said 
the  clergyman.  “ And  what  sort  of  person  is  this 
companion  of  hers  ? ” 

“Why,  decent  enow,  an  it  like  your  Reverence,” 
said  Stubbs  ; “ for  aught  I sees  of  her,  there's  no 
harm  of  her,  and  she  says  she  has  cash  enow  to 
carry  her  out  of  the  county.” 

“ Cash  ? that  is  always  what  you  think  of,  Stubbs. 
— But,  has  she  sense?  — has  she  her  wits  ? — has 
she  the  capacity  of  taking  care  of  herself  ? ” 

“ Why,  your  Reverence,”  replied  Stubbs,  “ I can- 
not just  say  — I will  be  sworn  she  was  not  born  at 
Witt-ham ; 1 for  Gaffer  Gibbs  looked  at  her  all 
the  time  of  service,  and  he  says  she  could  not  turn 

1 A proverbial  and  punning  expression  in  that  county,  to  in- 
timate that  a person  is  not  very  clever. 


ii  6 


TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 


up  a single  lesson  like  a Christian,  even  though  she 
had  Madge  Murdockson  to  help  her  — but  then,  as 
to  fending  for  hersell,  why,  she’s  a bit  of  a Scotch- 
woman, your  Reverence,  and  they  say  the  worst  j 
donnot  of  them  can  look  out  for  their  own  turn  — 
and  she  is  decently  put  on  enow,  and  not  be- 
chounched  like  t’other.” 

“ Send  her  in  here,  then,  and  do  you  remain 
below,  Mr.  Stubbs.” 

This  colloquy  had  engaged  Jeanie’s  attention  so 
deeply,  that  it  was  not  until  it  was  over  that  she 
observed  that  the  sashed  door,  which,  we  have  said, 
led  from  the  anteroom  into  the  garden,  was  opened, 
and  that  there  entered,  or  rather  was  borne  in 
by  two  assistants,  a young  man,  of  a very  pale  and 
sickly  appearance,  whom  they  lifted  to  the  nearest 
couch,  and  placed  there,  as  if  to  recover  from  the 
fatigue  of  an  unusual  exertion.  Just  as  they  were 
making  this  arrangement,  Stubbs  came  out  of  the 
library,  and  summoned  Jeanie  to  enter  it.  She 
obeyed  him,  not  without  tremor;  for,  besides  the  ’ 
novelty  of  the  situation  to  a girl  of  her  secluded 
habits,  she  felt  also  as  if  the  successful  prosecution 
of  her  journey  was  to  depend  upon  the  impression 
she  should  be  able  to  make  on  Mr.  Staunton. 

It  is  true,  it  was  difficult  to  suppose  on  what  pre- 
text a person  travelling  on  her  own  business,  and  l 
at  her  own  charge,  could  be  interrupted  upon  her 
route.  But  the  violent  detention  she  had  already 
undergone,  was  sufficient  to  show  that  there  existed 
persons  at  no  great  distance,  who  had  the  inter- 
est, the  inclination,  and  the  audacity,  forcibly  to 
stop  her  journey,  and  she  felt  the  necessity  of  hav- 
ing some  countenance  and  protection,  at  least  till 
she  should  get  beyond  their  reach.  While  these 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIA1SI.  117 

things  passed  through  her  mind,  much  faster  than 
our  pen  and  ink  can  record,  or  even  the  reader’s 
eye  collect  the  meaning  of  its  traces,  Jeanie  found 
herself  in  a handsome  library,  and  in  presence  of 
the  Hector  of  Willingham.  The  well-furnished 
presses  and  shelves  which  surrounded  the  large  and 
handsome  apartment,  contained  more  books  than 
Jeanie  imagined  existed  in  the  world,  being  accus- 
tomed to  consider  as  an  extensive  collection  two 
fir  shelves,  each  about  three  feet  long,  which  con- 
tained her  father’s  treasured  volumes,  the  whole 
pith  and  marrow,  as  he  used  sometimes  to  boast, 
of  modern  divinity.  An  orrery,  globes,  a telescope, 
and  some  other  scientific  implements,  conveyed  to 
Jeanie  an  impression  of  admiration  and  wonder  not 
unmixed  with  fear ; for,  in  her  ignorant  apprehen- 
sion, they  seemed  rather  adapted  for  magical  pur- 
poses than  any  other;  and  a few  stuffed  animals 
(as  the  Rector  was  fond  of  natural  history)  added 
to  the  impressive  character  of  the  apartment. 

Mr.  Staunton  spoke  to  her  with  great  mildness. 
He  observed,  that,  although  her  appearance  at 
church  had  been  uncommon,  and  in  strange,  and, 
hb  must  add,  discreditable  society,  and  calculated, 
upon  the  whole,  to  disturb  the  congregation  during 
divine  worship,  he  wished,  nevertheless,  to  hear 
her  own  account  of  herself  before  taking  any  steps 
which  his  duty  might  seem  to  demand.  He  was 
a justice  of  peace,  he  informed  her,  as  well  as  a 
clergyman. 

“ His  honour  ” (for  she  would  not  say  his  reve- 
rence) “ was  very  civil  and  kind,”  was  all  that  poor 
Jeanie  could  at  first  bring  out. 

“ Who  are  you,  young  woman  ? ” said  the  clergy- 
man, more  peremptorily  — “ and  what  do  you  do  in 


ii8 


TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 


this  country,  and  in  such  company  ? — We  allow  no 
strollers  or  vagrants  here.” 

“ I am  not  a vagrant  or  a stroller,  sir,”  said  Jeanie, 
a little  roused  by  the  supposition.  “ I am  a decent 
Scotch  lass,  travelling  through  the  land  on  my  own 
business  and  my  own  expenses  ; and  I was  so  un- 
happy as  to  fall  in  with  bad  company,  and  was 
stopped  a’  night  on  my  journey.  And  this  puir 
creature,  who  is  something  light-headed,  let  me  out 
in  the  morning.’'' 

“ Bad  company ! ” said  the  clergyman.  “ I am 
afraid,  young  woman,  you  have  not  been  sufficiently 
anxious  to  avoid  them.” 

‘‘Indeed,  sir,”  returned  Jeanie,  “I  have  been 
brought  up  to  shun  evil  communication.  But  these 
wicked  people  were  thieves,  and  stopped  me  by 
violence  and  mastery.” 

“ Thieves  ! ” said  Mr.  Staunton  ; “ then  you  charge 
them  with  robbery,  I suppose  ? ” 

“No,  sir  ; they  did  not  take  so  much  as  a boddle 
from  me,”  answered  Jeanie  ; “ nor  did  they  use  me  < 
ill,  otherwise  than  by  confining  me.” 

The  clergyman  enquired  into  the  particulars 
of  her  adventure,  which  she  told  him  from  point 
to  point. 

“ This  is  an  extraordinary,  and  not  a very  pro- 
bable tale,  young  woman,”  resumed  Mr.  Staunton. 

“ Here  has  been,  according  to  your  account,  a great 
violence  committed  without  any  adequate  motive.  \ 
Are  you  aware  of  the  law  of  this  country  — that  if 
you  lodge  this  charge  you  will  be  bound  over  to 
prosecute  this  gang  ? ” 

Jeanie  did  not  understand  him,  and  he  explained 
that  the  English  law,  in  addition  to  the  inconven- 
ience sustained  by  persons  who  have  been  robbed 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN.  119 

or  injured,  lias  the  goodness  to  intrust  to  them  the 
care  and  the  expense  of  appearing  as  prosecutors. 

Jeanie  said,  “ that  her  business  at  London  was 
express  ; all  she  wanted  was,  that  any  gentleman 
would,  out  of  Christian  charity,  protect  her  to  some 
town  where  she  could  hire  horses  and  a guide ; and, 
finally/'  she  thought,  “it  would  be  her  father's 
mind  that  she  was  not  free  to  give  testimony  in  an 
English  court  of  justice,  as  the  land  was  not  under 
a direct  gospel  dispensation." 

Mr.  Staunton  stared  a little,  and  asked  if  her 
father  was  a Quaker. 

“ God  forbid,  sir,"  said  Jeanie.  — “ He  is  nae 
schismatic  nor  sectary,  nor  ever  treated  for  sic 
black  commodities  as  theirs,  and  that’s  weel  kend 
o'  him." 

“And  what  is  his  name,  pray?"  said  Mr.  Staunton, 

“ David  Deans,  sir,  the  cowfeeder  at  Saint  Leon- 
ard’s Craigs,  near  Edinburgh." 

A deep  groan  from  the  anteroom  prevented  the 
Rector  from  replying,  and,  exclaiming,  “ Good  God ! 
that  unhappy  boy  ! ” he  left  Jeanie  alone,  and  has- 
tened into  the  outer  apartment. 

Some  noise  and  bustle  was  heard,  but  no  one 
entered  the  library  for  the  best  part  of  an  hour. 


CHAPTER  IX. 


Fantastic  passions’  maddening  brawl  \ 

And  shame  and  terror  over  all ! 

Deeds  to  be  hid  which  were  not  hid, 

Which,  all  confused,  I could  not  know 
Whether  I suffer'd  or  I did, 

For  all  seem’d  guilt,  remorse,  or  woe; 

My  own,  or  others,  still  the  same 
Life-stifling  fear,  soul-stifling  shame. 

Coleridge. 

During  the  interval  while  she  was  thus  left  alone,  ? 
Jeanie  anxiously  revolved  in  her  mind  what  course 
was  best  for  her  to  pursue.  She  was  impatient  to  5 
continue  her  journey,  yet  she  feared  she  could  not 
safely  adventure  to  do  so  while  the  old  hag  and  i 
her  assistants  were  in  the  neighbourhood,  without 
risking  a repetition  of  their  violence.  She  thought 
she  could  collect  from  the  conversation  which  she 
had  partly  overheard,  and  also  from  the  wild  con- 
fessions of  Madge  Wildfire,  that  her  mother  had  a 
.deep  and  revengeful  motive  for  obstructing  her 
journey  if  possible.  And  from  whom  could  she 
hope  for  assistance  if  not  from  Mr.  Staunton  ? His 
whole  appearance  and  demeanour  seemed  to  en- 
courage her  hopes.  His  features  were  handsome, 
though  marked  with  a deep  cast  of  melancholy ; 
his  tone  and  language  were  gentle  and  encouraging; 
and,  as  he  had  served  in  the  army  for  several  years 
during  his  youth,  his  air  retained  that  easy  frank- 
ness which  is  peculiar  to  the  profession  of  arms. 


THE  HEART  OE  MID-LOTHIAN. 


121 


He  was,  besides,  a minister  of  the  gospel ; and  al- 
though a worshipper,  according  to  Jeanie’s  notions, 
in  the  court  of  the  Gentiles,  and  so  benighted  as 
to  wear  a surplice  ; although  he  read  the  Common 
Prayer,  and  wrote  down  every  word  of  his  sermon 
before  delivering  it;  and  although  he  was,  more- 
over, in  strength  of  lungs,  as  well  as  pith  and 
marrow  of  doctrine,  vastly  inferior  to  Boanerges 
Stormheaven,  Jeanie  still  thought  he  must  be  a 
very  different  person  from  Curate  Kiltstoup,  anc^ 
other  prelatical  divines  of  her  father’s  earlier  days, 
who  used  to  get  drunk  in  their  canonical  dress,  and 
hound  out  the  dragoons  against  the  wandering^ 
Cameronians.  The  house  seemed  to  be  in  some 
disturbance,  but  as  she  could  not  suppose  she  was 
altogether  forgotten,  she  thought  it  better  to  remain 
quiet  in  the  apartment  where  she  had  been  left, 
till  some  one  should  take  notice  of  her. 

The  first  who  entered  was,  to  her  no  small  de- 
light, one  or  her  own  sex,  a motherly-looking  aged 
person  of  a housekeeper.  To  her  Jeanie  explained 
her  situation  in  a few  words,  and  begged  her 
assistance. 

The  dignity  of  a housekeeper  did  not  encourage 
too  much  familiarity  with  a person  who  was  at  the 
Rectory  on  justice-business,  and  whose  character 
might  seem  in  her  eyes  somewhat  precarious ; but 
she  was  civil,  although  distant. 

“Her  young  master,”  she  said,  “had  had  a bad 
accident  by  a fall  from  his  horse,  which  made  him 
liable  to  fainting  fits  ; he  had  been  taken  very  ill 
just  now,  and  it  was  impossible  his  Reverence  could 
see  Jeanie  for  some  time ; but  that  she  need  not 
fear  his  doing  all  that  was  just  and  proper  in  hex 
behalf  the  instant  he  could  get  her  business  at- 


122 


TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 


tended  to.”  — She  concluded  by  offering  to  show 
Jeanie  a room,  where  she  might  remain  till  his 
Reverence  was  at  leisure. 

Our  heroine  took  the  opportunity  to  request  the 
means  of  adjusting  and  changing  her  dress. 

| ^ The  housekeeper,  in  whose  estimation  order  and 
cleanliness  ranked  high  among  personal  virtues, 
gladly  complied  with  a request  so  reasonable ; and 
the  change  of  dress  which  Jeanie’s  bundle  furnished 
made  so  important  an  improvement  in  her  appear- 
ance, that  the  old  lady  hardly  knew  the  soiled  and 
disordered  traveller,  whose  attire  showed  the  vio- 
lence she  had  sustained,  in  the  neat,  clean,  quiet- 
looking little  Scotchwoman,  who  now  stood  before 
her.'}  Encouraged  by  such  a favourable  alteration 
in  lier  appearance,  Mrs.  Dalton  ventured  to  invite 
Jeanie  to  partake  of  her  dinner,  and  was  equally 
pleased  with  the  decent  propriety  of  her  conduct 
during  that  meal. 

u Thou  canst  read  this  book,  canst  thou,  young 
woman  ? ” said  the  old  lady,  when  their  meal  was 
concluded,  laying  her  hand  upon  a large  Bible. 

“ I hope  sae,  madam,”  said  Jeanie,  surprised  at 
the  question ; “ my  father  wad  hae  wanted  mony  a 
thing,  ere  I had  wanted  that  schuling.” 

“ The  better  sign  of  him,  young  woman.  There 
are  men  here,  well  to  pass  in  the  world,  would  not 
want  their  share  of  a Leicester  plover,  and  that’s  a 
bag-pudding,  if  fasting  for  three  hours  would  make 
all  their  poor  children  read  the  Bible  from  end  to 
end.  Take  thou  the  book,  then,  for  my  eyes  are 
something  dazed,  and  read  where  thou  listest  — it’s 
the  only  book  thou  canst  not  happen  wrong  in.” 
Jeanie  was  at  first  tempted  to  turn  up  the  parable 
of  the  good  Samaritan,  but  her  conscience  checked 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN. 


123 


her,  as  if  it  were  an  use  of  Scripture,  not  for  her 
own  edification,  but  to  work  upon  the  mind  of 
others  for  the  relief  of  her  worldly  afflictions ; and 
under  this  scrupulous  sense  of  duty,  she  selected, 
in  preference,  a chapter  of  the  prophet  Isaiah,  and 
read  it,  notwithstanding  her  northern  accent  and 
tone,  with  a devout  propriety,  which  greatly  edified 
Mrs.  Dalton. 

“ Ah,”  she  said,  “ an  all  Scotchwomen  were  sic  as 
thou  I — but  it  was  our  luck  to  get  born  devils  of 
thy  country,  I think  — every  one  worse  than  t'other. 
If  thou  knowest  of  any  tidy  lass  like  thysell,  that 
wanted  a place,  and  could  bring  a good  character, 
and  would  not  go  laiking  about  to  wakes  and  fairs, 
and  wore  shoes  and  stockings  all  the  day  round  — 
why,  I'll  not  say  but  we  might  find  room  for  her  at 
the  Rectory.  Hast  no  cousin  or  sister,  lass,  that 
such  an  offer  would  suit  ? ” 

This  was  touching  upon  a sore  point,  but  Jeanie 
was  spared  the  pain  of  replying  by  the  entrance  of 
the  same  man-servant  she  had  seen  before. 

“ Measter  wishes  to  see  the  young  woman  from 
Scotland,”  was  Tummas's  address. ' 

“ Go  to  his  Reverence,  my  dear,  as  fast  as  you 
can,  and  tell  him  all  your  story  — his  Reverence  is 
a kind  man,”  said  Mrs.  Dalton.  “ I will  fold . down 
the  leaf,  and  make  you  a cup  of  tea,  with  some  nice 
muffin,  against  you  come  down,  and  that's  what  you 
seldom  see  in  Scotland,  girl.” 

“Measter’s  waiting  for  the  young  woman,”  said 
Tummas  impatiently. 

“Well,  Mr.  Jack-Sauce,  and  what  is  your  busi- 
ness to  put  in  your  oar? — And  how  often  must  I 
tell  you  to  call  Mr.  Staunton  his  Reverence,  seeing 
as  he  is  a dignified  clergyman,  and  not  be  measter- 


124 


TALES  OE  MY  LANDLORD. 


ing,  meastering  him,  as  if  he  were  a little  petty 
squire  ? ” 

As  Jeanie  was  now  at  the  door,  and  ready  to 
accompany  Tummas,  the  footman  said  nothing  till 
he  got  into  the  passage,  when  he  muttered,  “ There 
are  moe  masters  than  one  in  this  house,  and  I think 
we  shall  have  a mistress  too,  an  Dame  Dalton  car- 
ries it  thus.” 

Tummas  led  the  way  through  a more  intricate 
range  of  passages  than  Jeanie  had  yet  threaded, 
and  ushered  her  into  an  apartment  which  was 
darkened  by  the  closing  of  most  of  the  window- 
shutters,  and  in  which  was  a bed  with  the  curtains 
partly  drawn. 

“ Here  is  the  young  woman,  sir,”  said  Tummas. 

“ Very  well,”  said  a voice  from  the  bed,  but  not 
that  of  his  Reverence ; “ be  ready  to  answer  the 
bell,  and  leave  the  room.”  ! 

“ There  is  some  mistake,”  said  Jeanie,  confounded 
at  finding  herself  in  the  apartment  of  an  invalid ; * 

“ the  servant  told  me  that  the  minister  ” — 

“ Don’t  trouble  yourself,”  said  the  invalid,  “ there 
is  no  mistake.  I know  more  of  your  affairs  than 
my  father,  and  I can  manage  them  better.  — Leave 
the  room,  Tom.”  The  servant  obeyed.  — “ We  must 
not,”  said  the  invalid,  “lose  time,  when  we  have 
little  to  lose.  Open  the  shutter  of  that  window.” 

She  did  so,  and,  as  he  drew  aside  the  curtain  of 
his  bed,  the  light  fell  on  his  pale  countenance,  as,  i 
turban’d  with  bandages,  and  dressed  in  a night- 
gown, he  lay,  seemingly  exhausted,  upon  the  bed. 

“ Look  at  me,”  he  said,  “ Jeanie  Deans ; can  you 
not  recollect  me  ? ” 

“ No,  sir,”  said  she,  full  of  surprise,  “ I was  nevei 
in  this  country  before.” 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN. 


125 


*‘But  I may  have  been  in  yours.  Think — recol- 
lect. I should  faint  did  1 name  the  name  you  are 
most  dearly  bound  to  loathe  and  to  detest.  Think 
— remember ! ” 

A terrible  recollection  flashed  on  Jeanie,  which 
every  tone  of  the  speaker  confirmed,  and  which  his 
next  words  rendered  certainty. 

“ Be  composed  — remember  Muschat’s  Cairn,  and 
the  moonlight  night ! n 

Jeanie  sunk  down  on  a chair,  with  clasped  hands, 
and  gasped  in  agony. 

“ Yes,  here  I lie,”  he  said,  like  a crushed  snake, 
writhing  with  impatience  at  my  incapacity  of  mo- 
tion - — here  I lie,  when  I ought  to  have  been  in 
Edinburgh,  trying  every  means  to  save  a life  that 
is  dearer  to  me  than  my  own.  — How  is  your 
sister?  — how  fares  it  with  her?  — condemned  to 
death,  I know  it,  by  this  time ! 0,  the  horse  that 

carried  me  safely  on  a thousand  errands  of  folly 
and  wickedness,  that  he  should  have  broke  down 
with  me  on  the  only  good  mission  I have  under- 
taken for  years ! But  I must  rein  in  my  passion  — ■ 
my  frame  cannot  endure  it,  and  I have  much  to 
say.  Give  me  some  of  the  cordial  which  stands  on 
that  table.  — Why  do  you  tremble  ? But  you  have 
too  good  cause.  — Let  it  stand  — I need  it  not.” 

Jeanie,  however  reluctant,  approached  him  with 
the  cup  into  which  she  had  poured  the  draught,  and 
could  not  forbear  saying,  “ There  is  a cordial  for  the 
mind,  sir,  if  the  wicked  will  turn  from  their  trans- 
gressions, and  seek  to  the  Physician  of  souls.” 

“ Silence  ! ” he  said  sternly  — “ and  yet  I thank 
you.  But  tell  me,  and  lose  no  time  in  doing  so, 
what  you  are  doing  in  this  country  ? Remember, 
though  I have  been  your  sister’s  worst  enemy,  yet 


126 


TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD 


I will  serve  her  with  the  best  of  my  blood,  and  1 
will  serve  you  for  her  sake ; and  no  one  can  serve 
you  to  such  purpose,  for  no  one  can  know  the  cir- 
cumstances so  well  — so  speak  without  fear.” 

“ I am  not  afraid,  sir/'  said  Jeanie,  collecting  hei 
spirits.  “ I trust  in  God ; and  if  it  pleases  Him  to 
redeem  my  sister’s  captivity,  it  is  all  I seek,  whoso- 
ever be  the  instrument.  But,  sir,  to  be  plain  with 
you,  I dare  not  use  your  counsel,  unless  I were 
enabled  to  see  that  it  accords  with  the  law  which 
I must  rely  upon/' 

“ The  devil  take  the  puritan  I ” cried  George 
Staunton,  for  so  we  must  now  call  him,  — “I  beg 
your  pardon ; but  I am  naturally  impatient,  and 
you  drive  me  mad  I What  harm  can  it  possibly  do 
you  to  tell  me  in  what  situation  your  sister  stands, 
and  your  own  expectations  of  being  able  to  assist 
her  ? It  is  time  enough  to  refuse  my  advice  when 
I offer  any  which  you  may  think  improper,  I speak 
calmly  to  you,  though  ’tis  against  my  nature : — 
but  don’t  urge  me  to  impatience  — it  will  only  ren-  ; 
der  me  incapable  of  serving  Effie.” 

There  was  in  the  looks  and  words  of  this  unhappy 
young  man  a sort  of  restrained  eagerness  and  im- 
petuosity, which  seemed  to  prey  upon  itself,  as  the 
impatience  of  a fiery  steed  fatigues  itself  with  churn-  \ 
ing  upon  the  bit.  After  a moment’s  consideration,  t 
it  occurred  to  Jeanie  that  she  was  not  entitled  to  , 
withhold  from  him,  whether  on  her  sister’s  account 
or  her  own,  the  account  of  the  fatal  consequences 
of  the  crime  which  he  had  committed,  nor  to  reject 
such  advice,  being  in  itself  lawful  and  innocent,  as 
he  might  be  able  to  suggest  in  the  way  of  remedy. 
Accordingly,  in  as  few  words  as  she  could  express 
it,  she  told  the  history  of  her  sister’s  trial  and  con- 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTI II AN. 


127 


demnation,  and  of  her  own  journey  as  far  as  Newark. 
He  appeared  to  listen  in  the  utmost  agony  of  mind, 
yet  repressed  every  violent  symptom  of  emotion, 
whether  by  gesture  or  sound,  which  might  have 
interrupted  the  speaker,  and,  stretched  on  his  couch 
like  the  Mexican  monarch  on  his  bed  of  live  coals, 
only  the  contortions  of  his  cheek,  and  the  quivering 
of  his  limbs,  gave  indication  of  his  sufferings.  To 
much  of  what  she  said  he  listened  with  stifled  groans, 
as  if  he  were  only  hearing  those  miseries  confirmed, 
whose  fatal  reality  he  had  known  before;  but  when 
she  pursued  her  tale  through  the  circumstances 
which  had  interrupted  her  journey,  extreme  surprise 
and  earnest  attention  appeared  to  succeed  to  the 
symptoms  of  remorse  which  he  had  before  exhibited. 
He  questioned  Jeanie  closely  concerning  the  ap- 
pearance of  the  two  men,  and  the  conversation  which 
she  had  overheard  between  the  taller  of  them  and 
the  woman. 

When  Jeanie  mentioned  the  old  woman  having 
alluded  to  her  foster-son  — - “ It  is  too  true,”  he  said ; 
“ and  the  source  from  which  I derived  food,  when 
an  infant,  must  have  communicated  to  me  the 
wretched  — the  fated  — propensity  to  vices  that 
were  strangers  in  my  own  family.  — But  go  on.” 

Jeanie  passed  slightly  over  her  journey  in  com- 
pany with  Madge,  having  no  inclination  to  repeat 
what  might  be  the  effect  of  mere  raving  on  the  part 
of  her  companion,  and  therefore  her  tale  was  now 
closed. 

Young  Staunton  lay  for  a moment  in  profound 
meditation,  and  at  length  spoke  with  more  compo- 
sure than  he  had  yet  displayed  during  their  inter- 
view.— “You  are  a sensible,  as  well  as  a good 
young  woman,  Jeanie  Deans,  and  I will  tell  you 


128 


TALES  OE  MY  LANDLORD. 


more  of  my  story  than  I have  told  to  any  one.  — 
Story  did  I call  it  ? — it  is  a tissue  of  folly,  guilt,  and 
misery.  — But  take  notice  — I do  it  because  I desire 
your  confidence  in  return  — that  is,  that  you  will 
act  in  this  dismal  matter  by  my  advice  and  direction. 
Therefore  do  I speak.” 

“ I will  do  what  is  fitting  for  a sister,  and  a daugh- 
ter, and  a Christian  woman  to  do,”  said  Jeanie  ; “ but 
do  not  tell  me*any  of  your  secrets  — It  is  not  good 
that  I should  come  into  your  counsel,  or  listen  to 
the  doctrine  which  causeth  to  err.” 

“ Simple  fool ! ” said  the  young  man.  “ Look  at 
me.  My  head  is  not  horned,  my  foot  is  not  cloven, 
iny  hands  are  not  garnished  with  talons ; and,  since 
I am  not  the  very  devil  himself,  what  interest  can  • 
any  one  else  have  in  destroying  the  hopes  with 
which  you  comfort  or  fool  yourself  ? Listen  to  me 
patiently,  and  you  will  find  that,  when  you  have  I 
heard  my  counsel,  you  may  go  to  the  seventh  heaven 
with  it  in  your  pocket,  if  you  have  a mind,  and  not  i 
feel  yourself  an  ounce  heavier  in  the  ascent.” 

At  the  risk  of  being  somewhat  heavy,  as  explana- 
tions usually  prove,  we  must  here  endeavour  to  com- 
bine into  a distinct  narrative,  information  which  the  ; 
invalid  communicated  in  a manner  at  once  too  cir- 
cumstantial, and  too  much  broken  by  passion,  to 
admit  of  our  giving  his  precise  words.  Part  of  it, ' 
indeed,  he  read  from  a manuscript,  which  he  had 
perhaps  drawn  up  for  the  information  of  his  rela-  I 


short  — this  wretched  hag  — 


ckson,  was  the  wife  of  a fa- 
vourite servant  of  my  father ; — she  had  been  my 
nurse ; — her  husband  was  dead ; — she  resided  in  a 
cottage  near  this  place;  — she  had  a daughter  who 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTTIIAN. 


129 


grew  up,  and  was  then  a beautiful  but  very  giddy 
girl ; her  mother  endeavoured  to  promote  her  mar- 
riage with  an  old  and  wealthy  churl  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood ; — the  girl  saw  me  frequently  — She  was 
familiar  with  me,  as  our  connexion  seemed  to  per- 
mit — and  I — in  a word,  I wronged  her  cruelly  — 
It  was  not  so  bad  as  your  sister’s  business,  but  it 
was  sufficiently  villainous  — her  folly  should  have 
been  her  protection.  Soon  after  this  I was  sent 
abroad  — To  do  my  father  justice,  if  I have  turned 
out  a fiend,  it  is  not  his  fault  — he  used  the  best 
means.  When  I returned,  I found  the  wretched 
mother  and  daughter  had  fallen  into  disgrace,  and 
were  chased  from  this  country.  — My  deep  share  in 
their  shame  and  misery  was  discovered  — my  father 
used  very  harsh  language  — we  quarrelled.  I left  his 
house,  and  led  a life  of  strange  adventure,  resolving 
never  again  to  see  my  father  or  my  father’s  home. 

“And  now  comes  the  story!  — Jeanie,  I put  my 
life  into  your  hands,  and  not  only  my  own  life, 
which,  God  knows,  is  not  worth  saving,  but  the  hap- 
piness of  a respectable  old  man,  and  the  honour  of  a 
family  of  consideration.  My  love  of  low  society,  as 
such  propensities  as  I was  cursed  with  are  usually 
termed,  was,  I think,  of  an  uncommon  kind,  and  in- 
dicated a nature,  which,  if  not  depraved  by  early 
debauchery,  would  have  been  fit  for  better  things. 
I did  not  so  much  delight  in  the  wild  revel,  the  low 
humour,  the  unconfined  liberty  of  those  with  whom 
I associated,  as  in  the  spirit  of  adventure,  presence 
of  mind  in  peril,  and  sharpness  of  intellect  which 
they  displayed  in  prosecuting  their  maraudings  upon 
the  revenue,  or  similar  adventures. — —Have  you 
looked  round  this  rectory  ? — is  it  not  a sweet  and 
pleasant  retreat  ? ” 


I 

130  TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 

Jeanie,  alarmed  at  this  sudden  change  of  subject 
replied  in  the  affirmative. 

“ Well ! I wish  it  had  been  ten  thousand  fathoms 
under  ground,  with  its  church-lands,  and  tithes, 
and  all  that  belongs  to  it ! Had  it  not  been  for  this 
cursed  rectory,  I should  have  been  permitted  to 
follow  the  bent  of  my  own  inclinations  and  the  pro- 
fession of  arms,  and  half  the  courage  and  address 
that  I have  displayed  among  smugglers  and  deer- 
stealers  would  have  secured  me  an  honourable  rank 
among  my  contemporaries.  Why  did  I not  go 
abroad  when  I left  this  house  ! — Why  did  I leave 
it  at  all ! — why  — But  it  came  to  that  point  with 
me  that  it  is  madness  to  look  back,  and  misery  to 
look  forward.” 

He  paused,  and  then  proceeded  with  more  com- 
posure. 

“ The  chances  of  a wandering  life  brought  me 
unhappily  to  Scotland,  to  embroil  myself  in  worse 
and  more  criminal  actions  than  I had  yet  been  con- 
cerned in.  It  was  now  I became  acquainted  with  [ 
Wilson,  a remarkable  man  in  his  station  of  life; 
quiet,  composed,  and  resolute,  firm  in  mind,  and 
uncommonly  strong  in  person,  gifted  with  a sort  of 
rough  eloquence  which  raised  him  above  his  com- 
panions. Hitherto  I had  been 

6 As  dissolute  as  desperate,  yet  through  both 
Were  seen  some  sparkles  of  a better  hope.’ 

But  it  was  this  man's  misfortune,  as  well  as  mine, 
that,  notwithstanding  the  difference  of  our  rank  and 
education,  he  acquired  an  extraordinary  and  fasci- 
nating influence  over  me,  which  I can  only  account 
for  by  the  calm  determination  of  his  character  be- 
ing superior  to  the  less  sustained  impetuosity  of 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN. 


I3I 


mine.  Where  he  led,  I felt  myself  bound  to  follow ; 
and  strange  was  the  courage  and  address  which  he 
displayed  in  his  pursuits.  While  I was  engaged 
in  desperate  adventures,  under  so  strange  and  dan- 
gerous a preceptor,  I became  acquainted  with  your 
unfortunate  sister  at  some  sports  of  the  young  peo- 
ple in  the  suburbs,  which  she  frequented  by  stealth 
— and  her  ruin  proved  an  interlude  to  the  tragic 
scenes  in  which  I was  now  deeply  engaged.  Yet 
this  let  me  say  — the  villainy  was  not  premeditated, 
and  I was  firmly  resolved  to  do  her  all  the  justice 
which  marriage  could  do,  so  soon  as  I should  be 
able  to  extricate  myself  from  my  unhappy  course 
of  life,  and  embrace  some  one  more  suited  to  my 
birth.  I had  wild  visions  — visions  of  conducting 
her  as  if  to  some  poor  retreat,  and  introducing  her 
at  once  to  rank  and  fortune  * she  never  dreamt  of. 
A friend,  at  my  request,  attempted  a negotiation 
with  my  father,  which  was  protracted  for  some 
time,  and  renewed  at  different  intervals.  At  length, 
and  just  when  I expected  my  father’s  pardon,  he 
learned  by  some  means  or  other  my  infamy,  painted 
in  even  exaggerated  colours,  which  was,  God 
knows,  unnecessary.  He  wrote  me  a letter  — how 
it  found  me  out,  I know  not  — enclosing  me  a sum 
of  money,  and  disowning  me  for  ever.  I became 
desperate  — I became  frantic  — I readily  joined  Wil- 
son in  a perilous  smuggling  adventure  in  which  we 
miscarried,  and  was  willingly  blinded  by  his  logic 
to  consider  the  robbery  of  the  officer  of  the  customs 
in  Fife  as  a fair  and  honourable  reprisal.  Hitherto 
I had  observed  a certain  line  in  my  criminality,  and 
stood  free  of  assaults  upon  personal  property,  but 
now  I felt  a wild  pleasure  in  disgracing  myself  as 
much  as  possible. 


TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 


“ The  plunder  was  no  object  to  me.  I aban- 
doned that  to  my  comrades,  and  only  asked  the  post 
of  danger.  I remember  well,  that  when  I stood 
with  my  drawn  sword  guarding  the  door  while  they 
committed  the  felony,  I had  not  a thought  of  my 
own  safety.  I was  only  meditating  on  my  sense  of 
supposed  wrong  from'  my  family,  my  impotent  thirst 
of  vengeance,  and  how  it  would  sound  in  the  haughty 
ears  of  the  family  of  Willingham,  that  one  of  their 
descendants,  and  the  heir  apparent  of  their  honours, 
should  perish  by  the  hands  of  the  hangman  for  rob- 
bing a Scottish  gauger  of  a sum  not  equal  to  one- 
fifth  part  of  the  money  I had  in  my  pocket-book. 
We  were  taken  — I expected  no  less.  We  were 
condemned  — that  also  I looked  for.  But  death,  as 
he  approached  nearer,  looked  grimly ; and  the  re- 
collection of  your  sister’s  destitute  condition  deter- 
mined me  on  an  effort  to  save  my  life. — I forgot  to 
tell  you,  that  in  Edinburgh  I again  met  the  woman 
Murdockson  and  her  daughter.  She  had  followed 
the  camp  when  young,  and  had  now,  under  pretence 
of  a trifling  traffic,  resumed  predatory  habits,  with 
which  she  had  already  been  too  familiar.  Our  first 
meeting  was  stormy ; but  I was  liberal  of  what 
money  I had,  and  she  forgot,  or  seemed  to  forget, 
the  injury  her  daughter  had  received.  The  unfor- 
tunate girl  herself  seemed  hardly  even  to  know  her 
seducer,  far  less  to  retain  any  sense  of  the  injury 
she  had  received.  Her  mind  is  totally  alienated, 
which,  according  to  her  mother’s  account,  is  some- 
times the  consequence  of  an  unfavourable  confine- 
ment. But  it  was  my  doing.  Here  was  another 
stone  knitted  round  my  neck  to  sink  me  into  the 
pit  of  perdition.  Every  look  - — every  word  of  this 
poor  creature  — her  false  spirits  — her  imperfect 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN. 


*33 


recollections  — her  allusions  to  things  which  she 
had  forgotten,  but  which  were  recorded  in  my  con- 
science, were  stabs  of  a poniard  — stabs  did  I say  ? 
— they  were  tearing  with  hot  pincers,  and  scalding 
the  raw  wound  with  burning  sulphur  — they  were 
to  be  endured,  however,  and  they  were  endured.  — 
I return  to  my  prison  thoughts. 

“ It  was  not  the  least  miserable  of  them  that  your 
sister’s  time  approached.  I knew  her  dread  of  you 
and  of  her  father.  She  often  said  she  would  die  a 
thousand  deaths  ere  you  should  know  her  shame  — 
yet  her  confinement  must  be  provided  for.  I knew 
this  woman  Murdockson  was  an  infernal  hag,  but 
I thought  she  loved  me,  and  that  money  would 
make  her  true.  She  had  procured  a file  for  Wil- 
son, and  a spring-saw  for  me ; and  she  undertook 
readily  to  take  charge  of  Effie  during  her  illness,  in 
which  she  had  skill  enough  to  give  the  necessary 
assistance.  I gave  her  the  money  which  my  father 
had  sent  me.  It  was  settled  that  she  should  receive 
Effie  into  her  house  in  the  meantime,  and  wait  for 
farther  directions  from  me,  when  I should  effect 
my  escape.  I communicated  this  purpose,  and  re- 
commended the  old  hag  to  poor  Effie  by  a letter, 
in  which  I recollect  that  I endeavoured  to  support 
the  character  of  Macheath  under  condemnation  — a 
fine,  gay,  bold-faced  ruffian,  who  is  game  to  the  last. 
Such,  and  so  wretchedly  poor,  was  my  ambition  ! 
Yet  I had  resolved  to  forsake  the  courses  I had 
been  engaged  in,  should  I be  so  fortunate  as  to 
escape  the  gibbet.  My  design  was  to  marry  your 
sister,  and  go  over  to  the  West  Indies.  I had  still 
a considerable  sum  of  money  left,,  and  I trusted  to 
be  able,  in  one  way  or  other,  to  provide  for  myself 
and  my  wife. 


*34 


TALES  OE  MY  LANDLORD. 


“We  made  the  attempt  to  escape,  and  by  the 
obstinacy  of  Wilson,  who  insisted  upon  going  first, 
it  totally  miscarried.  The  undaunted  and  self- 
denied  manner  in  which  he  sacrificed  himself  to 
redeem  his  error,  and  accomplish  my  escape  from 
the  Tolbooth-Church,  you  must  have  heard  of  — 
all  Scotland  rang  with  it.  It  was  a gallant  and 
extraordinary  deed  — All  men  spoke  of  it  — all  men, 
even  those  who  most  condemned  the  habits  and 
crimes  of  this  self-devoted  man,  praised  the  heroism 
of  his  friendship.  I have  many  vices,  but  cow- 
ardice, or  want  of  gratitude,  are  none  of  the  num- 
ber. I resolved  to  requite  his  generosity,  and  even 
your  sister’s  safety  became  a secondary  consider- 
ation with  me  for  the  time.  To  effect  Wilson’s  liber- 
ation was  my  principal  object,  and  I doubted  not 
to  find  the  means. 

“ Yet  I did  not  forget  Effie  neither.  The  blood- 
hounds of  the  law  were  so  close  after  me,  that  I 
dared  not  trust  myself  near  any  of  my  old  haunts, 
but  old  Murdockson  met  me  by  appointment,  and* 
informed  me  that  your  sister  had  happily  been 
delivered  of  a boy.  I charged  the  hag  to  keep  her 
patient’s  mind  easy,  and  let  her  want  for  nothing 
that  money  could  purchase,  and  I retreated  to  Fife,! 
where,  among  my  old  associates  of  Wilson’s  gang,; 
I hid  myself  in  those  places  of  concealment  where; 
the  men  engaged  in  that  desperate  trade  are  used 
to  find  security  for  themselves  and  their  uncustomed 
goods.  Men  who  are  disobedient  both  to  human 
and  divine  laws,  are  not  always  insensible  to  the 
claims  of  courage  and  generosity.  We  were  as- 
sured that  the  mob  of  Edinburgh,  strongly  moved 
with  the  hardships  of  Wilson’s  situation,  and  the 
gallantry  of  his  conduct,  would  back  any  bold  at- 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN. 


135 


tempt  that  might  be  made  to  rescue  him  even  from 
the  foot  of  the  gibbet.  Desperate  as  the  attempt 
seemed,  upon  my  declaring  myself  ready  to  lead 
the  onset  on  the  guard,  I found  no  want  of  fol- 
lowers who  engaged  to  stand  by  me,  and  returned 
to  Lothian,  soon  joined  by  some  steady  associ- 
ates, prepared  to  act  whenever  the  occasion  might 
require. 

“I  have  no  doubt  I should  have  rescued  him 
from  the  very  noose  that  dangled  over  his  head,” 
he  continued  with  animation,  which  seemed  a flash 
of  the  interest  which  he  had  taken  in  such 
exploits;  “but  amongst  other  precautions,  the 
magistrates  had  taken  one,  suggested,  as  we  after- 
wards learned,  by  the  unhappy  wretch  Porteous, 
which  effectually  disconcerted  my  measures.  They 
anticipated,  by  half  an  hour,  the  ordinary  period 
for  execution ; and,  as  it  had  been  resolved  amongst 
us,  that,  for  fear  of  observation  from  the  officers  of 
justice,  we  should  not  show  ourselves  upon  the 
street  until  the  time  of  action  approached,  it  fol- 
lowed that  all  was  over  before  our  attempt  at  a 
rescue  commenced.  It  did  commence,  however, 
and  I gained  the  scaffold  and  cut  the  rope  with  my 
own  hand.  It  was  too  late ! The  bold,  stout- 
hearted, generous  criminal  was  no  more  — and  ven- 
geance was  all  that  remained  to  us  — a vengeance, 
as  I then  thought,  doubly  due  from  my  hand,  to 
whom  Wilson  had  given  life  and  liberty  when  he 
could  as  easily  have  secured  his  own.” 

“ 0,  sir,”  said  Jeanie,  “ did  the  Scripture  never 
come  into  your  mind,  ‘ Vengeance  is  mine,  and  I 
will  repay  it  ? ’ ” 

“ Scripture  ? Why,  I had  not  opened  a Bible 
for  five  years/  answered  Staunton. 


136 


TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 


“ Wae’s  me,  sirs,”  said  Jeanie — “and  a minister's 
son  too  ! 

“ It  is  natural  for  you  to  say  so ; yet  do  not  in- 
terrupt me,  but  let  me  finish  my  most  accursed 
history.  The  beast,  Porteous,  who  kept  firing  on 
the  people  long  after  it  had  ceased  to  be  necessary, 
became  the  object  of  their  hatred  for  having  over- 
done his  duty,  and  of  mine  for  having  done  it  too 
well.  We  — that  is,  I and  the  other  determined 
friends  of  Wilson —resolved  to  be  avenged;  but 
caution  was  necessary.  I thought  I had  been 
marked  by  one  of  the  officers,  and  therefore  con- 
tinued to  lurk  about  the  vicinity  of  Edinburgh,  but 
without  daring  to  venture  within  the  walls.  At 
length,  I visited,  at  the  hazard  of  my  life,  the  place 
where  I hoped  to  find  my  future  wife  and  my  son 
— they  were  both  gone.  Dame  Murdockson  in- 
formed me,  that  so  soon  as  Effie  heard  of  the  mis- 
carriage of  the  attempt  to  rescue  Wilson,  and  the  ; 
hot  pursuit  after  me,  she  fell  into  a brain  fever  ; 
and  that  being  one  day  obliged  to  go  out  on  some  i 
necessary  business  and  leave  her  alone,  she  had  : 
taken  that  opportunity  to  escape,  and  she  had  not 
seen  her  since.  I loaded  her  with  reproaches,  to 
which  she  listened  with  the  most  provoking  and  cal- 
lous composure  ; for  it  is  one  of  her  attributes,  that,  i 
violent  and  fierce  as  she  is  upon  most  occasions, 
there  are  some  in  which  she  shows  the  most 

< 

imperturbable  calmness.  I threatened  her  with 
justice;  she  said  I had  more  reason  to  fear  justice 
than  she  had.  I felt  she  was  right,  and  was 
silenced.  I threatened  her  with  vengeance  ; she 
replied  in  nearly  the  same  words,  that,  to  judge  by  * 
injuries  received,  I had  more  reason  to  fear  her 
vengeance,  than  she  to  dread  mine.  She  was  again 


THE  HEART  OE  MID-LOTHIAN. 


137 


right,  and  I was  left  without  an  answer.  I flung 
myself  from  her  in  indignation,  and  employed  a 
comrade  to  make  enquiry  in  the  neighbourhood  of 
Saint  Leonard’s  concerning  your  sister  ; but  ere 
I received  his  answer,  the  opening  quest  of  a well- 
scented  terrier  of  the  law  drove  me  from  the  vicin- 
ity of  Edinburgh  to  a more  distant  and  secluded 
place  of  concealment.  A secret  and  trusty  emissary 
at  length  brought  me  the  account  of  Porteous’s 
condemnation,  and  of  your  sister’s  imprisonment 
on  a criminal  charge  ; thus  astounding  one  of  mine 
ears,  while  he  gratified  the  other. 

“ I again  ventured  to  the  Pleasance  — again 
charged  Murdockson  with  treachery  to  the  unfor- 
tunate Effie  and  her  child,  though  I could  conceive 
no  reason,  save  that  of  appropriating  the  whole  of 
the  money  I had  lodged  with  her.  Your  narrative 
throws  light  on  this,  and  shows  another  motive,  not 
less  powerful  because  less  evident  — the  desire  of 
wreaking  vengeance  on  the  seducer  of  her/ daugh- 
ter, — the  destroyer  at  once  of  her  reason  and  repu- 
tation. Great  God ! how  I wish  that,  instead  of 
the  revenge  she  made  choice  of,  she  had  delivered 
me  up  to  the  cord  ! ” 

“But  what  account  did  the  wretched  woman 
give  of  Effie  and  the  bairn  ? ” said  Jeanie,  who, 
during  this  long  and  agitating  narrative,  had  firm- 
ness and  discernment  enough  to  keep  her  eye  on 
such  points  as  might  throw  light  on  her  sister’s 
misfortunes. 

“ She  would  give  none,”  said  Staunton ; “ she 
said  the  mother  made  a moonlight  flitting  from  her 
house,  with  the  infant  in  her  arms  — that  she  had 
never  seen  either  of  them  since  — that  the  lass 
might  have  thrown  the  child  into  the  North  Loch 


IS* 


TALES  OE  MY  LANDLORD. 


or  the  Quarry  Holes,  for  what  she  knew,  and  it  was 
like  enough  she  had  done  so.” 

“ And  how  came  you  to  believe  that  she  did  not 
speak  the  fatal  truth  ? ” said  Jeanie,  trembling. 

“ Because,  on  this  second  occasion,  I saw  her 
daughter,  and  I understood  from  her,  that,  in  fact, 
the  child  had  been  removed  or  destroyed  during 
the  illness  of  the  mother.  But  all  knowledge  to  be 
got  from  her  is  so  uncertain  and  indirect,  that  I 
could  not  collect  any  farther  circumstances.  Only 
the  diabolical  character  of  old  Murdockson  makes 
me  augur  the  worst.” 

“ The  last  account  agrees  with  that  given  by  my 
poor  sister,”  said  Jeanie;  “but  gang  on  wi’  your 
ain  tale,  sir.” 

“ Of  this  I am  certain,”  said  Staunton,  “ that  Effie 
in  her  senses,  and  with  her  knowledge,  never  injured 
living  creature  — But  what  could  I do  in  her  ex- 
culpation ? - — Nothing  — and,  therefore,  my  whole  < 
thoughts  were  turned  towards  her  safety.  I was 
under  the  cursed  necessity  of  suppressing  my  feel-  i 
ings  towards  Murdockson  ; my  life  was  in  the  hag’s 
hand  — that  I cared  not  for ; but  on  my  life  hung 
that  of  your  sister.  I spoke  the  wretch  fair;  I 
appeared  to  confide  in  her ; and  to  me,  so  far  as  I 
was  personally  concerned,  she  gave  proofs  of  ex-  i 
traordinary  fidelity.  I was  at  first  uncertain  what 
measures  I ought  to  adopt  for  your  sister’s  liber-  j 
ation,  when  the  general  rage  excited  among  the 
citizens  of  Edinburgh  on  account  of  the  reprieve  of  l 
Porteous,  suggested  to  me  the  daring  idea  of  forc- 
ing the  jail,  and  at  once  carrying  off  your  sister 
from  the  clutches  of  the  law,  and  bringing  to  con- 
dign punishment  a miscreant,  who  had  tormented  j 
the  unfortunate  Wilson  even  in  the  hour  of  death, 


THE  HEART  OE  MID-LOTILIAN. 


*39 


as  if  he  had  been  a wild  Indian  taken  captive  by 
an  hostile  tribe.  I fiung  myself  among  the  multi- 
tude  in  the  moment  of  fermentation  — so  did  others 
among  Wilson’s  mates,  who  had,  like  me,  been  dis- 
appointed in  the  hope  of  glutting  their  eyes  with 
Porteous’s  execution.  All  was  organized,  and  I was 
chosen  for  the  captain.  I felt  not — I do  not  now 
feel,  compunction  for  what  was  to  be  done,  and  has 
since  been  executed.” 

“ 0 God  forgive  ye,  sir,  and  bring  ye  to  a better 
sense  of  your  ways!”  exclaimed  Jeanie,  in  horror 
at  the  avowal  of  such  violent  sentiments. 

“Amen,”  replied  Staunton,  “if  my  sentiments 
are  wrong.  But  I repeat,  that,  although  willing  to 
aid  the  deed,  I could  have  wished  them  to  have 
chosen  another  leader ; because  I foresaw  that  the 
great  and  general  duty  of  the  night  would  inter- 
fere with  the  assistance  which  I proposed  to  render 
Effie.  I gave  a commission,  however,  to  a trusty 
friend  to  protect  her  to  a place  of  safety,  so  soon 
as  the  fatal  procession  had  left  the  jail.  But  for 
no  persuasions  which  I could  use  in  the  hurry  of 
the  moment,  or  which  my  comrade  employed  at 
more  length,  after  the  mob  had  taken  a different 
direction,  could  the  unfortunate  girl  be  prevailed 
upon  to  leave  the  prison.  His  arguments  were  all 
wasted  upon  the  infatuated  victim,  and  he  was 
obliged  to  leave  her  in  order  to  attend  to  his  own 
safety.  Such  was  his  account;  but,  perhaps,  he 
persevered  less  steadily  in  his  attempt  to  persuade 
her  than  I would  have  done.” 

“Effie  was  right  to  remain,”  said  Jeanie;  “and 
I love  her  the  better  for  it.” 

“Why  will  you  say  so  ?”  said  Staunton. 

“You  cannot  understand  my  reasons,  sir,  if  I 


140 


TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 


should  render  them/’  answered  Jeanie  composedly ; 
“they  that  thirst  for  the  blood  of  their  enemies 
have  no  taste  for  the  well-spring  of  life.” 

“ My  hopes,”  said  Staunton,  “ were  thus  a second 
time  disappointed.  My  next  efforts  were  to  bring 
her  through  her  trial  by  means  of  yourself.  How 
I urged  it,  and  where,  you  cannot  have  forgotten. 
I do  not  blame  you  for  your  refusal ; it  was  founded, 
I am  convinced,  on  principle,  and  not  on  indif- 
ference to  your  sister’s  fate.  For  me,  judge  of  me  as 
a man  frantic ; I knew  not  what  hand  to  turn  to, 
and  all  my  efforts  were  unavailing.  In  this  con- 
dition, and  close  beset  on  all  sides,  I thought  of 
what  might  be  done  by  means  of  my  family,  and 
their  influence.  I fled  from  Scotland  — I reached 
this  place- — my  miserably  wasted  and  unhappy 
appearance  procured  me  from  my  father  that  par- 
don, which  a parent  finds  it  so  hard  to  refuse,  even 
to  the  most  undeserving  son.  And  here  I have 
awaited  in  anguish  of  mind,  which  the  con- 
demned criminal  might  envy,  the  event  of  your 
sister’s  trial.” 

“ Without  taking  any  steps  for  her  relief  ? ” said 
Jeanie 

“ To  the  last  I hoped  her  case  might  terminate 
more  favourably  ; and  it  is  only  two  days  since  that 
the  fatal  tidings  reached  me.  My  resolution  was 
instantly  taken.  I mounted  my  best  horse  with  the 
purpose  of  making  the  utmost  haste  to  London, 
and  there  compounding  with  Sir  Robert  Walpole 
for  your  sister’s  safety,  by  surrendering  to  him,  in 
the  person  of  the  heir  of  the  family  of  Willingham, 
the  notorious  George  Robertson,  the  accomplice  of 
Wilson,  the  breaker  of  the  Tolbooth  prison,  and  the 
well-known  leader  of  the  Porteous  mob.” 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN,  141 

“ But  would  that  save  my  sister  ? ” said  Jeanie, 
in  astonishment. 

“It  would,  as  I should  drive  my  bargain,”  said 
Staunton.  “ Queens  love  revenge  as  well  as  their 
subjects  — Little  as  you  seem  to  esteem  it,  it  is  a 
poison  which  pleases  all  palates,  from  the  prince 
to  the  peasant.  Prime  ministers  love  no  less  the 
power  of  pleasing  sovereigns  by  gratifying  their 
passions.  The  life  of  an  obscure  village  girl  ? 
Why,  I might  ask  the  best  of  the  crown-jewels  for 
laying  the  head  of  such  an  insolent  conspiracy  at  the 
foot  of  her  majesty,  with  a certainty  of  being  gratified. 
All  my  other  plans  have  failed,  but  this  could  not  — 
Heaven  is  just,  however,  and  would  not  honour  me 
with  making  this  voluntary  atonement  for  the  injury 
I have  done  your  sister.  I had  not  rode  ten  miles, 
when  my  horse,  the  best  and  most  sure-footed  ani- 
mal in  this  country,  fell  with  me  on  a level  piece  of 
road,  as  if  he  had  been  struck  by  a cannon-shot.  I 
was  greatly  hurt,  and  was  brought  back  here  in  the 
miserable  condition  in  which  you  now  see  me.” 

As  young  Staunton  had  come  to  the  conclusion, 
the  servant  opened  the  door,  and,  with  a voice 
which  seemed  intended  rather  for  a signal,  than 
merely  the  announcing  of  a visit,  said,  “ His  Rever- 
ence, sir,  is  coming  up  stairs  to  wait  upon  you.” 
“For  God’s  sake, hide  yourself,  Jeanie,”  exclaimed 
Staunton,  “ in  that  dressing  closet ! ” 

“No,  sir,”  said  Jeanie;  “as  I am  here  for  nae 
ill,  I canna  take  the  shame  of  hiding  mysell  frae 
the  master  o’  the  house.” 

“ But,  good  Heavens  ! ” exclaimed  George  Staun- 
ton, “ do  but  consider  ” 

Ere  he  could  complete  the  sentence,  his  father 
entered  the  apartment. 


CHAPTER  X. 


And  now,  will  pardon,  comfort,  kindness,  draw 
The  youth  from  vice  ? will  honour,  duty,  law  ? 

Crabbe 

Jeanie  arose  from  her  seat,  and  made  her  quiet 
reverence,  when  the  elder  Mr.  Staunton  entered 
the  apartment.  His  astonishment  was  extreme  at 
finding  his  son  in  such  company. 

“ I perceive,  madam,”  he  said,  “ I have  made  a 
mistake  respecting  you,  and  ought  to  have  left  the 
task  of  interrogating  you,  and  of  righting  your 
wrongs,  to  this  young  man,  with  whom,  doubtless, 
you  have  been  formerly  acquainted.” 

“ It's  unwitting  on  my  part  that  I am  here,”  said 
Jeanie:  “the  servant  told  me  his  master  wished 
to  speak  with  me.” 

“ There  goes  the  purple  coat  over  my  ears,”  mur- 
mured Tummas.  “ D — n her,  why  must  she  needs 
speak  the  truth,  when  she  could  have  as  well  said 
any  thing  else  she  had  a mind  ? ” 

“ George,”  said  Mr.  Staunton,  “ if  you  are  still  — 
as  you  have  ever  been  — lost  to  all  self-respect,  you 
might  at  least  have  spared  your  father,  and  your 
father's  house,  such  a disgraceful  scene  as  this.” 

“ Upon  my  life  — upon  my  soul,  sir !”  said  George, 
throwing  his  feet  over  the  side  of  the  bed,  and 
starting  from  his  recumbent  posture. 

“ Your  life,  sir ! ” interrupted  his  father,  with 
melancholy  sternness,  — “What  sort  of  life  has  it 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN. 


143 


been?  — Your  soul!  alas!  what  regard  have  you 
ever  paid  to  it  ? Take  care  to  reform  both  ere 
offering  either  as  pledges  of  your  sincerity.,, 

“ On  my  honour,  sir,  you  do  me  wrong,”  an- 
swered George  Staunton;  "I  have  been  all  that 
you  can  call  me  that’s  bad,  but  in  the  present 
instance  you  do  me  injustice.  By  my  honour,  you 
do!” 

“ Your  honour ! ” said  his  father,  and  turned  from 
him,  with  a look  of  the  most  upbraiding  contempt, 
to  Jeanie.  “From  you,  young  woman,  I neither 
ask  nor  expect  any  explanation  ; but,  as  a father 
alike  and  as  a clergyman,  I request  your  departure 
from  this  house.  If  your  romantic  story  has  been 
other  than  a pretext  to  find  admission  into  it, 
(which,  from  the  society  in  which  you  first  ap- 
peared, I may  be  permitted  to  doubt,)  you  will  find 
a justice  of  peace  within  two  miles,  with  whom, 
more  properly  than  with  me,  you  may  lodge  your 
complaint.” 

“ This  shall  not  be,”  said  George  Staunton,  start- 
ing up  to  his  feet.  “ Sir,  you  are  naturally  kind 
and  humane  — you  shall  not  become  cruel  and 
inhospitable  on  my  account.  Turn  out  that  eaves- 
dropping rascal,”  pointing  to  Thomas,  “ and  get 
what  hartshorn  drops,  or  what  better  receipt  you 
have  against  fainting,  and  I will  explain  to  you 
in  two  words  the  connexion  betwixt  this  young 
woman  and  me.  She  shall  not  lose  her  fair  charac- 
ter through  me.  I have  done  too  much  mischief 
to  her  family  already,  and  I know  too  well  what 
belongs  to  the  loss  of  fame.” 

“ Leave  the  room,  sir,”  said  the  Hector  to  the  ser- 
vant ; and  when  the  man  had  obeyed,  he  carefully 
shut  the  door  behind  him  Then  addressing  his  son, 


144 


TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 


he  said  sternly,  “ Now,  sir,  what  new  proof  of  your 
infamy  have  you  to  impart  to  me  ? ” 

Young  Staunton  was  about  to  speak,  but  it  was 
one  of  those  moments  when  persons,  who,  like 
Jeanie  Deans,  possess  the  advantage  of  a steady 
courage  and  unruffled  temper,  can  assume  the  supe- 
riority over  more  ardent  but  less  determined  spirits. 

“ Sir,”  she  said  to  the  elder  Staunton,  “ ye  have 
an  undoubted  right  to  ask  your  ain  son  to  render 
a reason  of  his  conduct.  But  respecting  me,  I am 
but  a wayfaring  traveller,  no  ways  obligated  or  in- 
debted to  you,  unless  it  be  for  the  meal  of  meat 
which,  in  my  ain  country,  is  willingly  gien  by  rich 
or  poor,  according  to  their  ability,  to  those  who 
need  it ; and  for  which,  forby  that,  I am  willing  to 
make  payment,  if  I didna  think  it  would  be  an 
affront  to  offer  siller  in  a house  like  this  — only  I 
dinna  ken  the  fashions  of  the  country.” 

“ This  is  all  very  well,  young  woman,”  said  the 
Rector,  a good  deal  surprised,  and  unable  to  con- 
jecture whether  to  impute  Jeanie’s  language  to 
simplicity  or  impertinence  — * “ this  may  be  all  very 
well  — but  let  me  bring  it  to  a point.  Why  do  you 
stop  this  young  man's  mouth,  and  prevent  his  com- 
municating to  his  father  and  his  best  friend,  an 
explanation  (since  he  says  he  has  one)  of  circum- 
stances which  seem  in  themselves  not  a little 
suspicious  ? ” 

“ He  may  tell  of  his  ain  affairs  what  he  likes,” 
answered  Jeanie ; “ but  my  family  and  friends  have 
nae  right  to  hae  ony  stories  told  anent  them  with- 
out their  express  desire ; and,  as  they  canna  be 
here  to  speak  for  themselves,  I entreat  ye  wadna 
ask  Mr.  George  Rob  — I mean  Staunton,  or  what- 
ever his  name  is,  ony  questions  anent  me  or  my 


THE  HEART  OE  MID-LOTHIAN. 


145 


folk ; for  I maun  be  free  to  tell  you,  that  he  will 
neither  have  the  bearing  of  a Christian  or  a gentle- 
man, if  he  answers  you  against  my  express  desire.” 
“This  is  the  most  extraordinary  thing  I ever  met 
with,”  said  the  Hector,  as,  after  fixing  his  eyes 
keenly  on  the  placid,  yet  modest  countenance  of 
Jeanie,  he  turned  them  suddenly  upon  his  son. 
“ What  have  you  to  say,  sir  ? ” 

“ That  I feel  I have  been  too  hasty  in  my  prom- 
ise, sir,”  answered  George  Staunton ; “ I have,  no 
title  to  make  any  communications  respecting  the 
affairs  of  this  young  person’s  family  without  her 
assent.” 

The  elder  Mr.  Staunton  turned  his  eyes  from 
one  to  the  other  with  marks  of  surprise. 

“This  is  more,  and  worse,  I fear,”  he  said,  ad- 
dressing his  son,  “ than  one  of  your  frequent  and 
disgraceful  connexions  — I insist  upon  knowing  the 
mystery.” 

“ I have  already  said,  sir,”  replied  his  son  rather 
sullenly,  “ that  I have  no  title  to  mention  the  affairs 
of  this  young  woman’s  family  without  her  consent.” 
“And  I hae  nae  mysteries  to  explain,  sir,”  said 
Jeanie,  “but  only  to  pray  you,  as  a preacher  of  the 
gospel  and  a gentleman,  to  permit  me  to  go  safe  to 
the  next  public  house  on  the  Lunnon  road.” 

“ I shall  take  care  of  your  safety,”  said  young 
Staunton ; “ you  need  ask  that  favour  from  no  one.” 
“Do  you  say  so  before  my  face  ? ” said  the  justly- 
incensed  father.  “ Perhaps,  sir,  you  intend  to  fill 
up  the  cup  of  disobedience  and  profligacy  by  form- 
ing a low  and  disgraceful  marriage  ? But  let  me 
bid  you  beware.” 

“ If  you  were  feared  for  sic  a thing  happening  wi’ 
me,  sir,”  said  Jeanie,  “ I can  only  say,  that  not  for 


146 


TALES  OF  MY  LAN!  LORD. 


all  the  land  that  lies  between  the  twa  ends  of  the 
rainbow  wad  I be  the  woman  that  should  wed  your 
son.” 

“ There  is  something  very  singular  in  all  this,” 
said  the  elder  Staunton ; “ follow  me  into  the  next 
room,  young  woman.” 

“ Hear  me  speak  first,”  said  the  young  man.  “ I 
have  but  one  word  to  say.  I confide  entirely  in 
your  prudence ; tell  my  father  as  much  or  as  little 
of  these  matters  as  you  will,  he  shall  know  neither 
more  nor  less  from  me.” 

His  father  darted  to  him  a glance  of  indignation, 
which  softened  into  sorrow  as  he  saw  him  sink  down 
on  the  couch,  exhausted  with  the  scene  he  had  un- 
dergone. He  left  the  apartment,  and  Jeanie  fol- 
lowed him,  George  Staunton  raising  himself  as  she 
passed  the  door-way,  and  pronouncing  the  word, 
‘‘Remember!”  in  a tone  as  monitory  as  it  was 
uttered  by  Charles  I.  upon  the  scaffold.  The  elder 
Staunton  led  the  way  into  a small  parlour,  and  shut 
the  door. 

“Young  woman,”  said  he,  “there  is  something 
in  your  face  and  appearance  that  marks  both  sense 
and  simplicity,  and,  if  I am  not  deceived,  innocence 
also  — Should  it  be  otherwise,  I can  only  say,  you 
are  the  most  accomplished  hypocrite  I have  ever 
seen.  — I ask  to  know  no  secret  that  you  have  un- 
willingness to  divulge,  least  of  all  those  which  con- 
cern my  son.  His  conduct  has  given  me  too  much 
unhappiness  to  permit  me  to  hope  comfort  or  satis- 
faction from  him.  If  you  are  such  as  I suppose 
you,  believe  me,  that  whatever  unhappy  circumstan- 
ces may  have  connected  you  with  George  Staunton, 
the  sooner  you  break  them  through  the  better.” 

“ I think  I understand  your  meaning,  sir,”  re- 


THE  HEART  OE  MID-LOTHIAN. 


147 


plied  Jeanie ; “ and  as  ye  are  sae  frank  as  to  speak 
o’  the  young  gentleman  in  sic  a way,  I must  needs 
say  that  it  is  but  the  second  time  of  my  speaking 
wi’  him  in  our  lives,  and  what  I hae  heard  frae  him 
011  these  twa  occasions  has  been  such  that  I never 
wish  to  hear  the  like  again.” 

“ Then  it  is  your  real  intention  to  leave  this  part 
of  the  country,  and  proceed  to  London  ? ” said  the 
Rector. 

“ Certainly,  sir ; for  I may  say,  in  one  sense,  that 
the  avenger  of  blood  is  behind  me ; and  if  I were 
but  assured  against  mischief  by  the  way  ” 

“ I have  made  enquiry,”  said  the  clergyman, 
“ after  the  suspicious  characters  you  described.  They 
have  left  their  place  of  rendezvous  ; but  as  they  may 
be  lurking  in  the  neighbourhood,  and  as  you  say 
you  have  special  reason  to  apprehend  violence  from 
them,  I will  put  you  under  the  charge  of  a steady 
person,  who  will  protect  you  as  far  as  Stamford,  and 
see  you  into  a light  coach,  which  goes  from  thence 
to  London.” 

“A  coach  is  not  for  the  like  of  me,  sir,”  said 
Jeanie  ; to  whom  the  idea  of  a stage-coach  was  un- 
known, as,  indeed,  they  were  then  only  used  in  the 
neighbourhood  of  London. 

Mr.  Staunton  briefly  explained  that  she  would 
find  that  mode  of  conveyance  more  commodious, 
cheaper,  and  more  safe,  than  travelling  on  horse- 
back. She  expressed  her  gratitude  with  so  much 
singleness  of  heart,  that  he  was  induced  to  ask  her 
whether  she  wanted  the  pecuniary  means  of  prose- 
cuting her  journey.  She  thanked  him,  but  said  she 
had  enough  for  her  purpose ; and,  indeed,  she  had 
husbanded  her  stock  with  great  care.  This  reply 
served  also  to  remove  some  doubts,  which  naturally 


148 


TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 


enough  still  floated  in  Mr  Staunton’s  mind,  respect- 
ing her  character  and  real  purpose,  and  satisfied  him, 
at  least,  that  money  did  not  enter  into  her  scheme 
of  deception,  if  an  impostor  she  should  prove.  He 
next  requested  to  know  what  part  of  the  city  she 
wished  to  go  to. 

“ To  a very  decent  merchant,  a cousin  o’  my  ain, 
a Mrs.  Glass,  sir,  that  sells  snuff  and  tobacco,  at  the 
sign  o’  the  Thistle,  somegate  in  the  town.” 

Jeanie  communicated  this  intelligence  with  a feel- 
ing that  a connexion  so  respectable  ought  to  give 
her  consequence  in  the  eyes  of  Mr.  Staunton ; and 
she  was  a good  deal  surprised  when  he  answered, 

“ And  is  this  woman  your  only  acquaintance  in 
London,  my  poor  girl  ? and  have  you  really  no  bet- 
ter knowledge  where  she  is  to  be  found  ? ” 

“ I was  gaun  to  see  the  Duke  of  Argyle,  forby 
Mrs.  Glass,”  said  Jeanie ; “ and  if  your  honour 
thinks  it  would  be  best  to  go  there  first,  and  get 
some  of  his  Grace’s  folk  to  show  me  my  cousin’s 
shop ” — 

“ Are  you  acquainted  with  any  of  the  Duke  of 
Argyle’s  people  ? ” said  the  Rector. 

“ No,  sir.” 

“Her  brain  must  be  something  touched  after  all, 
or  it  would  be  impossible  for  her  to  rely  on  such 
introductions. — Well,”  said  he  aloud,  “I  must  not 
enquire  into  the  cause  of  your  journey,  and  so  I 
cannot  be  fit  to  give  you  advice  how  to  manage  it. 
But  the  landlady  of  the  house  where  the  coach  stops 
is  a very  decent  person ; and  as  I use  her  house 
sometimes,  I will  give  you  a recommendation  to  her.” 
Jeanie  thanked  him  for  his  kindness  with  her 
best  curtsy,  and  said,  “ That  with  his  honour’s  line, 
and  ane  from  worthy  Mrs.  Bickerton,  that  keeps  the 


THE  HEART  OE  MID-LOTHIAN.  149 

Seven  Stars  at  York,  she  did  not  doubt  to  be  well 
taken  out  in  Lunnon.” 

“ And  now,”  said  he,  “ I presume  you  will  be 
desirous  to  set  out  immediately.” 

“ If  I had  been  in  an  inn,  sir,  or  any  suitable 
resting-place,”  answered  Jeanie,  “ I wad  not  have 
presumed  to  use  the  Lord’s  day  for  travelling;  but 
as  I am  on  a journey  of  mercy,  I trust  my  doing  so 
will  not  be  .imputed.” 

“ You  may,  if  you  chopse,  remain  with  Mrs.  Dal- 
ton for  the  evening ; but  I desire  you  will  have  no 
further  correspondence  with  my  son,  who  is  not  a 
proper  counsellor  for  a person  of  your  age,  whatever 
your  difficulties  may  be  ” 

“ Your  honour  speaks  ower  truly  in  that,”  said 
Jeanie;  “it  was  not  with  my  will  that  I spoke  wi* 
him  just  now,  and — not  to  wish  the  gentleman  ony 
thing  but  gude  — I never  wish  to  see  him  between 
the  een  again.” 

“ If  you  please,”  added  the  Rector,  “ as  you  seem 
to  be  a seriously  disposed  young  woman,  you  may 
attend  family  worship  in  the  hall  this  evening.” 

“I  thank  your  honour,”  said  Jeanie;  “but  I am 
doubtful  if  my  attendance  would  be  to  edification.” 

“ How  ! ” said  the  Rector ; “ so  young,  and  already 
unfortunate  enough  to  have  doubts  upon  the  duties 
of  religion ! ” 

“God  forbid,  sir,”  replied  Jeanie;  “it  is  not  for 
that ; but  I have  been  bred  in  the  faith  of  the  suf- 
fering remnant  of  the  presbyterian  doctrine  in  Scot- 
land, and  I am  doubtful  if  I can  lawfully  attend 
upon  your  fashion  of  worship,  seeing  it  has  been 
testified  against  by  many  precious  souls  of  our  kirk, 
and  specially  by  my  worthy  father.” 

“Well,  my  good  girl”  said  the  Rector,  with  a 


TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 


150 

good-humoured  smile,  “far  be  it  from  me  to  put 
any  force  upon  your  conscience ; and  yet  you  ought 
to  recollect  that  the  same  divine  grace  dispenses  its 
streams  to  other  kingdoms  as  well  as  to  Scotland. 

As  it  is  as  essential  to  our  spiritual,  as  water  to  our 
earthly  wants,  its  springs,  various  in  character,  yet 
alike  efficacious  in  virtue,  are  to  be  found  in  abund- 
ance throughout  the  Christian  world.’ * 

" Ah,  but,”  said  Jeanie,  “ though  the  waters  may 
be  alike,  yet,  with  your  worship’s  leave,  the  blessing 
upon  them  may  not  be  equal.  It  would  have  been 
in  vain  for  Naaman  the  Syrian  leper  to  have  bathed 
in  Pharphar  and  Abana,  rivers  of  Damascus,  when 
it  was  only  the  waters  of  Jordan  that  were  sanctified 
for  the  cure.” 

“Well,”  said  the  Rector,  “we  will  not  enter  upon 
the  great  debate  betwixt  our  national  churches  at 
present.  We  must  endeavour  to  satisfy  you,  that 
at  least,  amongst  our  errors,  we  preserve  Christian 
charity,  and  a desire  to  assist  our  brethren.” 

He  then  ordered  Mrs,  Dalton  into  his  presence,  « 
and  consigned  Jeanie  to  her  particular  charge,  with 
directions  to  be  kind  to  her,  and  with  assurances, 
that,  early  in  the  morning,  a trusty  guide  and  a good 
horse  should  be  ready  to  conduct  her  to  Stamford. 
He  then  took  a serious  and  dignified,  yet  kind  leave 
of  her,  wishing  her  full  success  in  the  objects  of  her 
journey,  which  he  said  he  doubted  not  were  laud- 
able, from  the  soundness  of  thinking  which  she  had 
displayed  in  conversation. 

Jeanie  was  again  conducted  by  the  housekeeper 
to  her  own  apartment.  But  the  evening  was  not 
destined  to  pass  over  without  further  torment  from 
young  Staunton.  A paper  was  slipped  into  her 
hand  by  the  faithful  Tummas,  which  intimated  his 


THE  HEART  OE  MID-LOTHIAN.  i*i 


young  master’s  desire,  or  rather  demand,  to  see  her 
instantly,  and  assured  her  he  had  provided  against 
interruption. 

“ Tell  your  young  master,”  said  Jeanie,  openly,  and 
regardless  of  all  the  winks  and  signs  by  which  Turn- 
in  as  strove  to  make  her  comprehend  that  Mrs.  Dal- 
ton was  not  to  be  admitted  into  the  secret  of  the 
correspondence,  “ that  I promised  faithfully  to  his 
worthy  father  that  I would  not  see  him  again.” 

“Tuminas,”  said  Mrs.  Dalton,  “I  think  you  might 
be  much  more  creditably  employed,  considering  the 
coat  you  wear,  and  the  house  you  live  in,  than  to  be 
carrying  messages  between  your  young  master  and 
girls  that  chance  to  be  in  this  house.” 

“ Why,  Mrs.  Dalton,  as  to  that,  I was  hired  to 
carry  messages,  and  not  to  ask  any  questions  about 
them ; and  it’s  not  for  the  like  of  me  to  refuse  the 
young  gentleman’s  bidding,  if  he  were  a little  wild- 
ish or  so.  If  there  was  harm  meant,  there’s  no 
harm  done,  you  see.” 

“ However,”  said  Mrs.  Dalton,  “I  gie  you  fair 
warning,  Tummas  Ditton,  that  an  I catch  thee  at 
this  work  again,  his  Reverence  shall  make  a clear 
house  of  you.” 

Tummas  retired,  abashed  and  in  dismay.  The 
rest  of  the  evening  passed  away  without  any  thing 
worthy  of  notice. 

Jeanie  enjoyed  the  comforts  of  a good  bed  and  a 
sound  sleep  with  grateful  satisfaction,  after  the  perils 
and  hardships  of  the  preceding  day  ; and  such  was 
her  fatigue,  that  she  slept  soundly  until  six  o’clock, 
when  she  was  awakened  by  Mrs.  Dalton,  who  ac- 
quainted her  that  her  guide  and  horse  were  ready, 
and  in  attendance.  She  hastily  rose,  and,  after  her 
morning  devotions,  was  soon  ready  to  resume  her 


*5*  . 


TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD, 


travels.  The  motherly  care  of  the  housekeeper  had 
provided  an  early  breakfast,  and,  after,  she  had  par- 
taken of  this  refreshment,  she  found  herself  safe 
seated  on  a pillion  behind  a stout  Lincolnshire  peas- 
ant, who  was,  besides,  armed  with  pistols,  to  protect 
her  against  any  violence  which  might  be  offered. 

They  trudged  on  in  silence  for  a mile  or  two  along 
a country  road,  which  conducted  them,  by  hedge  and 
gate-way,  into  the  principal  highway,  a little  beyond 
Grantham.  At  length  her  master  of  the  horse  asked 
her  whether  her  name  was  not  Jean,  or  Jane,  Deans. 
She  answered  in  the  affirmative,  with  some  surprise. 

“ Then  here’s  a bit  of  a note  as  concerns  you,”  said 
the  man,  handing  it  over  his  left  shoulder.  “ It’s 
from  young  master,  as  I judge,  and  every  man  about 
Willingham  is  fain  to  pleasure  him  either  for  love 
or  fear;  for  he’ll  come  to  be  landlord  at  last,  let 
them  say  what  they  like.” 

Jeanie  broke  the  seal  of  the  note,  which  was  ! 
addressed  to  her,  and  read  as  follows  : 

i 

“ You  refuse  to  see  me.  I suppose  you  are  shocked 
at  my  character:  but,  in  painting  myself  such  as  I am, 
you  should  give  me  credit  for  my  sincerity.  I am,  at 
least,  no  hypocrite.  You  refuse,  however,  to  see  me, 
and  your  conduct  may  be  natural  — but  is  it  wise  ? 

I have  expressed  my  anxiety  to  repair  your  sister’s 
misfortunes  at  the  expense  of  my  honour,  — my  family’s 
honour  — my  own  life  ; and  you  think  me  too  debased 
to  be  admitted  even  to  sacrifice  what  I have  remaining  > 
of  honour,  fame,  and  life,  in  her  cause.  Well,  if  the 
offerer  be  despised,  the  victim  is  still  equally  at  hand  ; 
and  perhaps  there  may  be  justice  in  the  decree  of 
Heaven,  that  I shall  not  have  the  melanchoty  credit 
of  appearing  to  make  this  sacrifice  out  of  my  own  free 
good-will.  You,  as  you  have  declined  my  concurrence, 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN. 


153 


must  take  the  whole  upon  yourself.  Go,  then,  to  the 
Duke  of  Argyle,  and,  when  other  arguments  fail  you, 
tell  him  you  have  it  in  your  power  to  bring  to  con 
dign  punishment  the  most  active  conspirator  in  the  Por* 
teous  mob.  He  will  hear  you  on  this  topic,  should  he 
be  deaf  to  every  other.  Make  your  own  terms,  for  they 
will  be  at  your  own  making.  You  know  where  I am 
to  be  found  ; and  you  may  be  assured  I will  not  give 
you  the  dark  side  of  the  hill,  as  at  Muschat’s  Cairn  ; I 
have  no  thoughts  of  stirring  from  the  house  I was  born 
in  ; like  the  hare,  I shall  be  worried  in  the  seat  I 
started  from.  I repeat  it  — make  your  own  terms,  I 
need  not  remind  you  to  ask  your  sister’s  life,  for  that 
you  will  do  of  course  ; but  make  terms  of  advantage  for 
yourself  — ask  wealth  and  reward  — office  and  income 
for  Butler  — ask  any  thing  — you  will  get  any  thing  — 
and  all  for  delivering  to  the  hands  of  the  executioner 
a man  most  deserving  of  his  office;  — one  who,  though 
young  in  years,  is  old  in  wickedness,  and  whose  most 
earnest  desire  is,  after  the  storms  of  an  unquiet  life,  to 
sleep  and  be  at  rest.’’ 

This  extraordinary  letter  was  subscribed  with  the 
initials  G S. 

Jeanie  read  it  over  once  or  twice  with  great 
attention,  which  the  slow  pace  of  the  horse,  as  he 
stalked  through  a deep  lane,  enabled  her  to  do  with 
facility 

When  she  had  perused  this  billet,  her  first  em- 
ployment was  to  tear  it  into  as  small  pieces  as  pos- 
sible, and  disperse  these  pieces  in  the  air  by  a few 
at  a time,  so  that  a document  containing  so  peril- 
ous a secret  might  not  fall  into  any  other  person's 
hand. 

The  question  how  far,  in  point  of  extremity,  she 
was  entitled  to  save  her  sister's  life  by  sacrificing 
that  of  a person  who,  though  guilty  towards  the 


154 


TALES  OE  MY  LANDLORD. 


state,  had  done  her  no  injury,  formed  the  next 
earnest  and  most  painful  subject  of  consideration. 

In  one  sense,  indeed,  it  seemed  as  if  denouncing 
the  guilt  of  Staunton,  the  cause  of  her  sister’s 
errors  and  misfortunes,  would  have  been  an  act  of 
just,  and  even  providential  retribution.  But  Jeanie, 
in  the  strict  and  severe  tone  of  morality  in  which 
she  was  educated,  had  to  consider  not  only  the 
general  aspect  of  a proposed  action,  but  its  justness 
and  fitness  in  relation  to  the  actor,  before  she  could 
be,  according  to  her  own  phrase,  free  to  enter  upon 
it.  What  right  had  she  to  make  a barter  between 
the  lives  of  Staunton  and  of  Effie,  and  to  sacrifice 
the  one  for  the  safety  of  the  other  ? His  guilt  — 
that  guilt  for  which  he  was  amenable  to  the  laws 
— was  a crime  against  the  public  indeed,  but  if 
was  not  against  her. 

Neither  did  it  seem  to  her  that  his  share  in  the 
death  of  Porteous,  though  her  mind  revolted  at  the  i 
idea  of  using  violence  to  any  one,  was  in  the  rela- 
tion of  a common  murder,  against  the  perpetrator  * 
of  which  every  one  is  called  to  aid  the  public  magis- 
trate That  violent  action  was  blended  with  many 
circumstances,  which,  in  the  eyes  of  those  of  Jeanie’s 
rank  in  life,  if  they  did  not  altogether  deprive  it  of 
the  character  of  guilt,  softened,  at  least,  its  most 
atrocious  features  The  anxiety  of  the  government 
to  obtain  conviction  of  some  of  the  offenders,  had  ' 
but  served  to  increase  the  public  feeling  which 
connected  the  action,  though  violent  and  irregular,  i 
with  the  idea  of  ancient  national  independence 
The  rigorous  procedure  adopted  or  proposed  against 
the  city  of  Edinburgh,  the  ancient  metropolis  of 
Scotland — the  extremely  unpopular  and  injudicious 
measure  of  compelling  the  Scottish  clergy,  contrary 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN. 


*55 


to  their  principles  and  sense  of  duty,  to  promulgate 
from  the  pulpit  the  reward  offered  for  the  discovery 
of  the  perpetrators  of  this  slaughter,  had  produced 
on  the  public  mind  the  opposite  consequences  from 
what  were  intended ; and  Jeanie  felt  conscious, 
that  whoever  should  lodge  information  concerning 
that  event,  and  for  whatsoever  purpose  it  might  be 
done,  it  would  be  considered  as  an  act  of  treason 
against  the  independence  of  Scotland.  With  the 
fanaticism  of  the  Scotch  presbyterians,  there  was 
always  mingled  a glow  of  national  feeling,  and 
Jeanie  trembled  at  the  idea  of  her  name  being 
handed  down  to  posterity  with  that  of  the  “ fause 
Monteath,”  and  one  or  two  others,  who,  having  de- 
serted and  betrayed  the  cause  of  their  country,  are 
damned  to  perpetual  remembrance  and  execration 
among  its  peasantry.  Yet,  to  part  with  Effie’s  life 
once  more,  when  a word  spoken  might  save  it, 
pressed  severely  on  the  mind  of  her  affectionate 
sister, 

“ The  Lord  support  and  direct  me  ! ” said  Jeanie, 
“ for  it  seems  to  be  his  will  to  try  me  with  difficul- 
ties far  beyond  my  ain  strength.” 

While  this  thought  passed  through  Jeanie’s  mind, 
her  guard,  tired  of  silence,  began  to  show  some 
inclination  to  be  communicative.  He  seemed  a sen- 
sible, steady  peasant,  but  not  having  more  delicacy 
or  prudence  than  is  common  to  those  in  his  situa- 
tion, he,  of  course,  chose  the  Willingham  family  as 
the  subject  of  his  conversation.  From  this  man 
Jeanie  learned  some  particulars  of  which  she  had 
hitherto  been  ignorant,  and  which  we  will  briefly 
recapitulate  for  the  information  of  the  reader. 

The  father  of  George  Staunton  had  been  bred  a 
soldier,  and,  during  service  in  the  West  Indies,  had 


1 56 


TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 


married  the  heiress  of  a wealthy  planter.  By  this 
lady  he  had  an  only  child,  George  Staunton,  the 
unhappy  young  man  who  has  been  so  often  men- 
tioned in  this  narrative.  He  passed  the  first  part 
of  his  early  youth  under  the  charge  of  a doting 
mother,  and  in  the  society  of  negro  slaves,  whose 
study  it  was  to  gratify  his  every  caprice.  His 
father  was  a man  of  worth  and  sense ; hut  as  he 
alone  retained  tolerable  health  among  the  officers 
of  the  regiment  he  belonged  to,  he  was  much  en- 
gaged with  his  duty.  Besides,  Mrs  Staunton  was 
beautiful  and  wilful,  and  enjoyed  but  delicate 
health ; so  that  it  was  difficult  for  a man  of  affec- 
tion, humanity,  and  a quiet  disposition  to  struggle 
with  her  on  the  point  of  her  over-indulgence  to  an 
only  child.  Indeed,  what  Mr.  Staunton  did  do 
towards  counteracting  the  baneful  effects  of  his 
wife’s  system,  only  tended  to  render  it  more  perm- 

— . for  every  restraint  imposed  on  the  boy  in  j 
J --  lw  t.rpKIe 


Clous;  ior  evuij  r—  , v , , 

his  father’s  presence,  was  compensated  by  treble 
license  during  his  absence.  So  that  George  Staun-  ( 
ton  acquired,  even  in  childhood,  the  habit  of  regard- 
ing his  father  as  a rigid  censor,  from  whose  severity 
he  was  desirous  of  emancipating  himself  as  soon 

and  absolutely  as  possible. 

When  he  was  about  ten  years  old,  and  when  s, 
mind  had  received  all  the  seeds  of  those  evil  weeds 
which  afterwards  grew  apace,  his  mother  died  and' 
his  father,  half  heart-broken,  returned  to  England.; 
To  sum  up  her  imprudence  and  unjustifiable  indul- 
gence, she  had  contrived  to  place  a considerable 
part  of  her  fortune  at  her  son’s  exclusive  control 
or  disposal;  in  consequence  of  which  management 
George  Staunton  had  not  been  long  in  England  till 
he  learned  his  independence,  and  how  to  abuse  it 


THE  HEART  OE  MID-LOTHIAN. 


*57 


His  father  had  endeavoured  to  rectify  the  defers 
of  his  education  by  placing  him  in  a well-regulated 
seminary.  But  although  he  showed  some  capacity 
for  learning,  his  riotous  conduct  soon  became  intol- 
erable to  his  teachers.  He  found  means  (too  easily 
afforded  to  all  youths  who  have  certain  expecta- 
tions) of  procuring  such  a Command  of  money  as 
enabled  him  to  anticipate  in  boyhood  the  frolics 
and.  follies  of  a more  mature  age,  and,  with  these 
accomplishments,  he  was  returned  on  his  father’s 
hands  as  a profligate  boy,  whose  example  might 
ruin  an  hundred. 

The  elder  Mr.  Staunton,  whose  mind,  since  his 
wife’s  death,  had  been  tinged  with  a melancholy, 
which  certainly  his  son’s  conduct  did  not  tend  to 
dispel,  had  taken  orders,  and  was  inducted  by  his 
brother  Sir  William  Staunton  into  the  family  living 
of  Willingham.  The  revenue  was  a matter  of  con- 
sequence to  him,  for  he  derived  little  advantage 
from  the  estate  of  his  late  wife ; and  his  own  for- 
tune was  that  of  a younger  brother. 

He  took  his  son  to  reside  with  him  at  the  rec- 
tory ; but  he  soon  found  that  his  disorders  rendered 
him  an  intolerable  inmate.  And  as  the  young  men 
of  his  own  rank  would  not  endure  the  purse-proud 
insolence  of  the  Creole,  he  fell  into  that  taste  for 
low  society,  which  is  worse  than  “pressing  to  death, 
whipping,  or  hanging.”  His  father  sent  him  abroad, 
but  he  only  returned  wilder  and  more  desperate 
than  before  It  is  true,  this  unhappy  youth  was 
not  without  his  good  qualities.  He  had  lively  wit, 
good  temper,  reckless  generosity,  and  manners  which, 
while  he  was  under  restraint,  might  pass  well  in 
society.  But  all  these  availed  him  nothing.  He 
was  so  well  acquainted  with  the  turf,  the  gaming- 


158  TALES  OE  MY  LANDLORD. 

table,  the  cock -pit,  and  every  worse  rendezvous  of 
folly  and  dissipation,  that  his  mother’s  fortune  was 
spent  before  he  was  twenty-one,  and  he  was  soon 
in  debt  and  in  distress.  His  early  history  may  be 
concluded  in  the  words  of  our  British  Juvenal, 
when  describing  a similar  character : — 

* » 

Headstrong,  determined  in  his  own  career, 

He  thought  reproof  unjust,  and  truth  severe. 

The  soul’s  disease  was  to  its  crisis  come, 

He  first  abused  and  then  abjured  his  home ; 

And  when  he  chose  a vagabond  to  be, 

He  made  his  shame  his  glory,  “ I’ll  be  free ! ” 

“ And  yet  ’tis  pity  on  Measter  George,  too,”  con- 
tinued the  honest  boor,  “ for  he  has  an  open  hand, 
and  winna  let  a poor  body  want  an  he  has  it.” 

The  virtue  of  profuse  generosity,  by  which,  in- 
deed, they  themselves  are  most  directly  advantaged, 
is  readily  admitted  by  the  vulgar  as  a cloak  for  j 
many  sins. 

At  Stamford  our  heroine  was  deposited  in  safety  * 
by  her  communicative  guide.  She  obtained  a place  • 
in  the  coach,  which,  although  termed  a light  one, 
and  accommodated  with  no  fewer  than  six  horses, 
only  reached  London  on  the  afternoon  of  the  second 
day.  The  recommendation  of  the  elder  Mr.  Staun- 
ton procured  Jeanie  a civil  reception  at  the  inn 
where  the  carriage  stopped,  and,  by  the  aid  of  Mrs. 
Bickerton’s  correspondent,  she  found  out  her  friend 
and  relative  Mrs.  Glass,  by  whom  she  was  kindly 
received  and  hospitably  entertained. 


'V 

CHAPTER  XL 


My  name  is  Argyle,  you  may  well  think  it  strange, 

To  live  at  the  court  and  never  to  change. 

Ballad. 

Few  names  deserve  more  honourable  mention  in 
the  history  of  Scotland,  during  this  period,  than  that 
of  John,  Duke  of  Argyle  and  Greenwich.  His 
talents  as  a statesman  and  a soldier  were  generally 
admitted  ; he  was  not  without  ambition,  but  “ with- 
out the  illness  that  attends  it  ” — without  that  ir- 
regularity of  thought  and  aim,  which  often  excites 
great  men,  in  his  peculiar  situation,  (for  it  was  a 
very  peculiar  one,)  to  grasp  the  means  of  raising 
themselves  to  power,  at  the  risk  of  throwing  a king- 
dom into  confusion.  Pope  has  distinguished  him  as 

Argyle,  the  state’s  whole  thunder  born  to  wield, 

And  shake  alike  the  senate  and  the  field. 

He  was  alike  free  from  the  ordinary  vices  of  states- 
men, falsehood,  namely,  and  dissimulation  ; and 
from  those  of  warriors,  inordinate  and  violent  thirst 
after  self-aggrandizement. 

Scotland,  his  native  country,  stood  at  this  time 
in  a very  precarious  and  doubtful  situation.  She 
was  indeed  united  to  England,  but  the  cement  had 
not  had  time  to  acquire  consistence.  The  irritation 
of  ancient  wrongs  still  subsisted,  and  betwixt  the 
fretful  jealousy  of  the  Scottish,  and  the  supercilious 


160  TALES  OE  MY  LANDLORD. 

disdain  of  the  English,  quarrels  repeatedly  occurred, 
in  the  course  of  which  the  national  league,  so  im- 
portant to  the  safety  of  both,  was  in  the  utmost 
danger  of  being  dissolved.  Scotland  had,  besides, 
the  disadvantage  of  being  divided  into  intestine 
factions,  which  hated  each  other  bitterly,  and  waited 
but  a signal  to  break  forth  into  action. 

In  such  circumstances,  another  man,  with  the 
talents  and  rank  of  Argyle,  but  without  a mind  so 
happily  regulated,  would  have  sought  to  rise  from 
the  earth  in  the  whirlwind,  and  direct  its  fury. 

He  chose  a course  more  safe  and  more  honourable. 

Soaring  above  the  petty  distinctions  of  faction, 
his  voice  was  raised,  whether  in  office  or  opposi- 
tion, for  those  measures  which  were  at  once  just 
and  lenient.  His  high  military  talents  enabled 
him,  during  the  memorable  year  1715,  to  render 
such  services  to  the  house  of  Hanover,  as,  perhaps, 
were  too  great  to  be  either  acknowledged  or  repaid.  < 
He  had  employed,  too,  his  utmost  influence  in 
softening  the  consequences  of  that  insurrection  to  i 
the  unfortunate  gentlemen,  whom  a mistaken  sense 
of  loyalty  had  engaged  in  the  affair,  and  was  re- 
warded by  the  esteem  and  affection  of  his  country 
in  an  uncommon  degree.  This  popularity  with  a 
discontented  and  warlike  people,  was  supposed  to 
be  a subject  of  jealousy  at  court,  where  the  power  I 
to  become  dangerous  is  sometimes  of  itself  obnox-  i 
ious,  though  the  inclination  is  not  united  with  it. 
Besides,  the  Duke  of  Argyle’s  independent  and 
somewhat  haughty  mode  of  expressing  himself  in 
Parliament,  and  acting  in  public,  were  ill  calculated 
to  attract  royal  favour.  He  was,  therefore,  always 
respected,  and  often  employed  ; but  he  was  not  a 
favourite  of  George  the  Second,  his  consort,  or  his 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN.  161 

ministers.  At  several  different  periods  in  his  life, 
the  Duke  might  be  considered  as  in  absolute  dis- 
grace at  court,  although  he  could  hardly  be  said  to 
be  a declared  member  of  opposition.  This  rendered 
him  the  dearer  to  Scotland,  because  it  was  usually 
in  her  cause  that  he  incurred  the  displeasure  of  his 
sovereign  ; and  upon  this  very  occasion  of  the  Por- 
teous  mob,  the  animated  and  eloquent  opposition 
which  he  had  offered  to  the  severe  measures  which 
were  about  to  be  adopted  towards  the  city  of  Edin- 
burgh, was  the  more  gratefully  received  in  that 
metropolis,  as  it  was  understood  that  the  Duke's 
interposition  had  given  personal  offence  to  Queen 
Caroline. 

His  conduct  upon  this  occasion,  as,  indeed,  that 
of  all  the  Scottish  members  of  the  legislature,  with 
one  or  two  unworthy  exceptions,  had  been  in  the 
highest  degree  spirited.  The  popular  tradition,  con- 
cerning his  reply  to  Queen  Caroline,  has  been  given 
already,  and  some  fragments  of  his  speech  against 
the  Porteous  bill  are  still  remembered.  He  re- 
torted upon  the  Chancellor,  Lord  Hardwicke,  the 
insinuation  that  he  had  stated  himself  in  this  case 
rather  as  a party  than  as  a judge  : — 

“I  appeal/’  said  Argjde,  “to  the  House  — to  the 
nation,  if  I can  be  justly  branded  with  the  infamy  of 
being  a jobber  or  a partisan.  Have  I been  a briber  of 
votes  ? — a buyer  of  boroughs  ? — the  agent  of  corruption 
for  any  purpos^,  or  on  behalf  of  any  party  ? — Consider 
my  life  ; examine  my  actions  in  the  field  and  in  the 
cabinet,  and  see  where  there  lies  a blot  that  can  attach 
to  my  honour.  I have  shown  myself  the  friend  of  my 
country  — the  loyal  subject  of  my  king.*  I am  ready  to 
do  so  again,  without  an  instant’s  regard  to  the  frowns  or 
smiles  of  a court.  I have  experienced  both,  and  am 


i62 


TALES  OE  MY  LANDLORD. 


prepared  with  indifference  for  either.  I have  given  my 
reasons  for  opposing  this  hill,  and  have  made  it  appear 
that  it  is  repugnant  to  the  international  treaty  of  union, 
to  the  liberty  of  Scotland,  and,  reflectively,  to  that  of 
England,  to  common  justice,  to  common  sense,  and  to 
the  public  interest.  Shall  the  metropolis  of  Scotland, 
the  capital  of  an  independent  nation,  the  residence  of 
a long  line  of  monarchs,  by  whom  that  noble  city  was 
graced  and  dignified  — shall  such  a city,  for  the  fault 
of  an  obscure  and  unknown  body  of  rioters,  be  deprived 
of  its  honours  and  its  privileges  — its  gates  and  its 
guards  ? — and  shall  a native  Scotsman  tamely  behold 
the  havoc  ? I glory,  my  Lords,  in  opposing  such  un- 
just rigour,  and  reckon  it  my  dearest  pride  and  honour 
to  stand  up  in  defence  of  my  native  country,  while  thus 
laid  open  to  undeserved  shame,  and  unjust  spoliation.” 

Other  statesmen  and  orators,  both  Scottish  and 
English,  used  the  same  arguments,  the  bill  was 
gradually  stripped  of  its  most  oppressive  and  ob-  * 
noxious  clauses,  and  at  length  ended  in  a fine  upon 
the  city  of  Edinburgh  in  favour  of  Porteous’s  widow. 

So  that,  as  somebody  observed  at  the  time,  the 
whole  of  these  fierce  debates  ended  in  making 
the  fortune  of  an  old  cookmaid,  such  having  been 
the  good  woman’s  original  capacity. 

The  court,  however,  did  not  forget  the  baffle  they 
had  received  in  this  affair,  and  the  Duke  of  Argyle, 
who  had  contributed  so  much  to  it,  was  thereafter 
considered  as  a person  in  disgrace.  It  is  necessary 
to  place  these  circumstances  under  the  reader’s  ob- 
servation, both  because  they  are  connected  with  the 
preceding  and  subsequent  part  of  our  narrative. 

The  Duke  was  alone  in  his  study,  when  one  of  his 
gentlemen  acquainted  him,  that  a country-girl,  from 
Scotland,  was  desirous  of  speaking  with  his  Grace. 


THE  HEART  OE  MID-LOTHIAN. 


163 

••A  country-girl,  and  from  Scotland!”  said  the 
Duke ; “ what  can  have  brouglit  the  silly  fool  to 
London?  — Some  lover  pressed  and  sent  to  sea,  or 
some  stock  sunk  in  the  South-Sea  funds,  or  some 
such  hopeful  concern,  I suppose,  and  then  nobody 
to  manage  the  matter  but  MacCallummore.  — Well, 
this  same  popularity  has  its  inconveniences.  — How- 
ever, show  our  countrywoman  up,  Archibald,  — it  is 
ill  manners  to  keep  her  in  attendance.” 

A young  woman  of  rather  low  stature,  and  whose 
countenance  might  be  termed  very  modest,  and 
pleasing  in  expression,  though  sun-burnt,  somewhat 
freckled,  and  not  possessing  regular  features,  was 
ushered  into  the  splendid  library.  She  wore  the 
tartan  plaid  of  her  country,  adjusted  so  as  partly 
to  cover  her  head,  and  partly  to  fall  back  over  her 
shoulders.  A quantity  of  fair  hair,  disposed  with 
great  simplicity  and  neatness,  appeared  in  front  of 
her  round  and  good-humoured  face,  to  which  the 
solemnity  of  her  errand,  and  her  sense  of  the 
Duke’s  rank  and  importance,  gave  an  appearance 
of  deep  awe,  but  not  of  slavish  fear,  or  fluttered 
bashfulness.  The  rest  of  Jeanie’s  dress  was  in 
the  style  of  Scottish  maidens  of  her  own  class ; 
but  arranged  with  that  scrupulous  attention  to 
neatness  and  cleanliness,  which  we  often  find 
united  with  that  purity  of  mind,  of  which  it  is 
a natural  emblem. 

She  stopped  near  the  entrance  of  the  room,  made 
her  deepest  reverence,  and  crossed  her  hands  upon 
her  bosom,  without  uttering  a syllable.  The  Duke 
of  Argyle  advanced  towards  her;  and,  if  she  ad- 
mired his  graceful  deportment  and  rich  dress,  de- 
corated with  the  orders  which  had  been  deservedly 
bestowed  on  him,  his  courteous  manner,  and  quick 


164 


TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 


and  intelligent  cast  of  countenance,  he,  on  liis  part, 
was  not  less,  or  less  deservedly,  struck  with  the 
quiet  simplicity  and  modesty  expressed  in  the 
dress,  manners,  and  countenance  of  his  humble 
countrywoman. 

“Did  you  wish  to  speak  with  me,  my  bonny 
lass  ? ” said  the  Duke,  using  the  encouraging  epi- 
thet which  at  once  acknowledged  the  connexion 
betwixt  them  as  country-folk ; “ or,  did  you  wish 
bo  see  the  Duchess  ? ” 

“ My  business  is  with  your  honour,  my  Lord  — I 
mean  your  Lordship’s  Grace.” 

“ And  what  is  it,  my  good  girl  ? ” said  the  Duke, 
in  the  same  mild  and  encouraging  tone  of  voice. 
Jeanie  looked  at  the  attendant.  “Leave  us,  Archi- 
bald,” said  the  Duke,  “ and  wait  in  the  anteroom.” 
The  domestic  retired.  “ And  now  sit  down,  my  good 
lass,”  said  the  Duke ; “ take  your  breath  — take  your 
time,  and  tell  me  what  you  have  got  to  say.  I guess  : 
by  your  dress,  you  are  just  come  up  from  poor  old 
Scotland  — Did  you  come  through  the  streets  in 
your  tartan  plaid  ? ” 

“No,  sir,”  said  Jeanie;  “a  friend  brought  me  in 
ane  o’  their  street  coaches  — a very  decent  woman,” 
she  added,  her  courage  increasing  as  she  became  fa- 
miliar with  the  sound  of  her  own  voice  in  such  a 
presence;  “your  Lordship’s  Grace  kens  her — it’s 
Mrs.  Glass,  at  the  sign  o’  the  Thistle.” 

“ 0,  my  worthy  snuff-merchant  — I have  always 
a chat  with  Mrs.  Glass  when  I purchase  my  Scotch 
high-dried.  — Well,  but  your  business,  my  bonny 
woman  — time  and  tide,  you  know,  wait  for  no  one.” 
“Your  honour  — I beg  your  Lordship’s  pardon 
— I mean  your  Grace,”  — for  it  must  be  noticed, 
that  this  matter  of  addressing  the  Duke  by  his 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN. 


1 65 

appropriate  title  had  been  anxiously  inculcated 
upon  Jeanie  by  her  friend  Mrs.  Glass,  in  whose 
eyes  it  was  a matter  of  such  importance,  that  her 
last  words,  as  Jeanie  left  the  coach,  were,  “Mind 
to  say  your  Grace ; ” and  Jeanie,  who  had  scarce 
ever  in  her  life  spoke  to  a person  of  higher  quality 
than  the  Laird  of  Dumbiedikes,  found  great  diffi- 
culty in  arranging  her  language  according  to  the 
rules  of  ceremony. 

The  Duke,  who  saw  her  embarrassment,  said,  with 
his  usual  affability,  “ Never  mind  my  grace,  lassie ; 
just  speak  out  a plain  tale,  and  show  you  have  a 
Scotch  tongue  in  your  head.” 

“ Sir,  I am  muckle  obliged  — Sir,  I am  the  sister 
of  that  poor  unfortunate  criminal,  Effie  Deans,  who 
is  ordered  for  execution  at  Edinburgh.” 

“Ah!”  said  the  Duke,  “I  have  heard  of  that 
unhappy  story,  I think  — a case  of  child-murder, 
under  a special  act  of  parliament  — Duncan  Forbes 
mentioned  it  at  dinner  the  other  day.” 

“ And  I was  come  up  frae  the  north,  sir,  to  see 
what  could  be  done  for  her  in  the  way  of  getting  a 
reprieve  or  pardon,  sir,  or  the  like  of  that.” 

“ Alas  ! my  poor  girl,”  said  the  Duke,  “ you  have 
made  a long  and  a sad  journey  to  very  little  pur- 
pose — Your  sister  is  ordered  for  execution,” 

“But  I am  given  to  understand  that  there  is  law 
for  reprieving  her,  if  it  is  in  the  king’s  pleasure,” 
said  Jeanie. 

“ Certainly  there  is,”  said  the  Duke  ; “ but  that  is 
purely  in  the  King’s  breast.  The  crime  has  been  but 
too  common  — the  Scotch  crown -lawyers  think  it  is 
right  there  should  be  an  example.  Then  the  late 
disorders  in  Edinburgh  have  excited  a prejudice  in 
government  against  the  nation  at  large,  which  they 


i66 


TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 


think  can  only  be  managed  by  measures  of  intimi- 
dation and  severity.  What  argument  have  you,  my 
poor  girl,  except  the  warmth  of  your  sisterly  affec-  1 
tion,  to  offer  against  all  this  ? — What  is  your 
interest  ? — What  friends  have  you  at  court  ? ” 

“None,  excepting  God  and  your  Grace; ” said 
Jeanie,  still  keeping  her  ground  resolutely,  however. 

“ Alas  ! ” said  the  Duke,  “ I could  almost  say  with 
old  Ormond,  that  there  could  not  be  any,  whose  in- 
fluence was  smaller  with  kings  and  ministers.  It 
is  a cruel  part  of  our  situation,  young  woman  — I 
mean  of  the  situation  of  men  in  my  circumstances, 
that  the  public  ascribe  to  them  influence  which 
they  do  not  possess ; and  that  individuals  are  led  to 
expect  from  them  assistance  which  we  have  no 
means  of  rendering.  But  candour  and  plain  dealing 
is  in  the  power  of  every  one,  and  I must  not  let  you 
imagine  you  have  resources  in  my  influence,  which 
do  not  exist,  to  make  your  distress  the  heavier  — I ' 
have  no  means  of  averting  your  sister’s  fate  — She 
must  die.”  < 

“We  must  a’  die,  sir,”  said  Jeanie;  “it  is  our 
common  doom  for  our  father’s  transgression;  but 
we  shouldna  hasten  ilk  other  out  o’  the  world,  that’s 
what  your  honour  kens  better  than  me/’ 

“ My  good  young  woman,”  said  the  Duke,  mildly, 

“ we  are  all  apt  to  blame  the  law  under  which  we 
immediately  suffer ; but  you  seem  to  have  been  well 
educated  in  your  line  of  life,  and  you  must  know 
that  it  is  alike  the  law  of  God  and  man,  that  the 
murderer  shall  surely  die.” 

“ But,  sir,  Effie  — that  is,  my  poor  sister,  sir  — 
canna  be  proved  to  be  a murderer ; and  if  she  be 
not,  and  the  law  take  her  life  notwithstanding,  wha 
is  it  that  is  the  murderer  then  ? ” 


THE  HEART  OE  MID-LOTHIAN.  167 

44 1 am  no  lawyer,”  said  the  Duke  ; “ and  I own  I 
think  the  statute  a very  severe  one.” 

44  You  are  a law-maker,  sir,  with  your  leave  ; 
and,  therefore,  ye  have  power  over  the  law,”  an- 
swered Jeanie. 

“Not  in  my  individual  capacity,”  said  the  Duke  ; 
4 though,  as  one  of  a large  body,  I have  a voice  in 
the  legislation.  But  that  cannot  serve  you- -nor 
have  I at  present,  I care  not  who  knows  it,  so  much 
personal  influence  with  the  sovereign,  as  would 
entitle  me  to  ask  from  him  the  most  insignificant 
favour.  What  could  tempt  you,  young  woman,  to 
address  yourself  to  me  ? ” 

“ It  was  yoursell,  sir.” 

44  Myself  ? ” he  replied  — 44 1 am  sure  you  have 
never  seen  me  before.” 

44  No,  sir  ; but  a’  the  world  kens  that  the  Duke 
of  Argyle  is  his  country’s  friend  ; and  that  ye  fight 
for  the  right,  and  speak  for  the  right,  and  that 
there’s  nane  like  yours  in  our  present  Israel,  and 
so  they  that  think  themselves  wranged  draw  to  re- 
fuge under  your  shadow  ; and  if  ye  wunna  stir  to 
save  the  blood  of  an  innocent  countrywoman  of 
your  ain,  what  should  we  expect  frae  southrons 
and  strangers  ? And  maybe  I had  another  reason 
for  troubling  your  honour.” 

44  And  what  is  that  ? ” asked  the  Duke. 

44 1 hae  understood  from  my  father,  that  your 
honour’s  house,  and  especially  your  gudesire  and 
his  father,  laid  down  their  lives  on  the  scaffold  in 
the  persecuting  time.  And  my  father  was  honoured 
to  gie  his  testimony  baith  in  the  cage  and  in  the 
pillory,  as  is  specially  mentioned  in  the  books  of 
Peter  Walker  the  packman,  that  your  honour,  I 
daresay,  kens,  for  he  uses  maist  partly  the  west- 


i68 


TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 


land  of  Scotland.  And,  sir,  there’s  ane  that  takes 
concern  in  me,  that  wished  me  to  gang  to  your 
Grace’s  presence,  for  his  gudesire  had  done  your 
gracious  gudesire  some  good  turn,  as  ye  will  see 
frae  these  papers.” 

With  these  words,  she  delivered  to  the  Duke  the 
little  parcel  which  she  had  received  from  Butler. 
He  opened  it,  and,  in  the  envelope,  read  with  some 
surprise, 

“Muster-roll  of  the  men  serving  in  the  troop  of 
that  godly  gentleman,  Captain  Salathiel  Bangtext.  — 
Obadiali  Muggleton,  Sin-Despise  Double-knock,  Stand- 
fast-in-faith  Gipps,  Turn-to-the-right  Thvvack-away  — 

What  the  deuce  is  this  ? A list  of  Praise-God 
Barebone’s  Parliament,  I think,  or  of  old  Noll’s 
evangelical  army  — that  last  fellow  should  under- 
stand his  wheelings  to  judge  by  his  name.  — But 
what  does  all  this  mean,  my  girl  ? ” 

“ It  was  the  other  paper,  sir,”  said  Jeanie,  some- 
what abashed  at  the  mistake. 

“ 0,  this  is  my  unfortunate  grandfather’s  hand 
sure  enough  — 

‘ To  all  who  may  have  friendship  for  the  house  of 
Argyle,  these  are  to  certify,  that  Benjamin  Butler,  of 
Monk’s  regiment  of  dragoons,  having  been,  under  God, 
the  means  of  saving  my  life  from  four  English  troopers  1 
who  were  about  to  slay  me,  I,  having  no  other  present 
means  of  recompense  in  my  power,  do  give  him  this  \ 
acknowledgment,  hoping  that  it  may  he  useful  to  him 
or  his  during  these  troublesome  times;  and  do  conjure 
my  friends,  tenants,  kinsmen,  and  whoever  will  do 
aught  for  me,  either  in  the  Highlands  or  Lowlands, 
to  protect  and  assist  the  said  Benjamin  Butler,  and 
his  friends  or  family,  on  their  lawful  occasions,  giving 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN. 


169 


them  such  countenance,  maintenance,  and  supply,  as 
may  correspond  with  the  benefit  he  hath  bestowed  on 
me ; witness  my  hand  — 

‘ Lorne.’ 

“This  is  a strong  injunction  — This  Benjamin 
Butler  was  your  grandfather,  I suppose  ? — You 
seem  too  young  to  have  been  his  daughter.  ” 

“ He  was  nae  akin  to  me,  sir  — he  was  grand- 
father to  ane  — to  a neighbour’s  son  — to  a sincere 
weel-wisher  of  mine,  sir,”  dropping  her  little  curtsy 
as  she  spoke. 

“ 0,  I understand,”  said  the  Duke  — “a  true- 
love  affair.  He  was  the  grandsire  of  one  you  are 
engaged  to  ? ” 

“ One  I was  engaged  to,  sir,”  said  Jeanie,  sigh- 
ing; “but  this  unhappy  business  of  my  poor 
sister  ” 

“ What ! ” said  the  Duke  hastily,  — “ he  has  not 
deserted  you  on  that  account,  has  he  ? ” 

“ No,  sir ; he  wad  be  the  last  to  leave  a friend 
in  difficulties,”  said  J eanie  ; “ but  I maun  think  for 
him,  as  weel  as  for  mysell.  He  is  a clergyman,  sir, 
and  it  would  not  beseem  him  to  marry  the  like  of 
me,  wi’  this  disgrace  on  my  kindred.” 

“You  are  a singular  young  woman,”  said  the 
Duke.  “ You  seem  to  me  to  think  of  every  one  be- 
fore yourself.  And  have  you  really  come  up  from 
Edinburgh  on  foot,  to  attempt  this  hopeless  solici- 
tation for  your  Sister’s  life  ? ” 

“ It  was  not  a’thegetlier  on  foot,  sir,”  answered 
J eanie  ; “ for  I sometimes  got  a cast  in  a waggon, 
and  I had  a horse  from  Ferrybridge,  and  then  the 
coach  ” 

“ Well,  never  mind  all  that,”  interrupted  the 


170 


TALES  0E  MY  LANDLORD. 


i 


Duke.  — “ What  reason  have  you  for  thinking  your 
sister  innocent  ? ” 

“ Because  she  has  not  been  proved  guilty,  as 
will  appear  from  looking  at  these  papers.” 

She  put  into  his  hand  a note  of  the  evidence,  and 
copies  of  her  sister’s  declaration.  These  papers 
Butler  had  procured  after  her  departure,  and  Sad- 
dletree had  them  forwarded  to  London,  to  Mrs. 
Glass’s  care  ; so  that  Jeanie  found  the  documents, 
so  necessary  for  supporting  her  suit,  lying  in  readi- 
ness at  her  arrival. 

“ Sit  down  in  that  chair,  my  good  girl,”  said  the 
Duke,  “ until  I glance  over  the  papers.” 

She  obeyed,  and  watched  with  the  utmost  anxiety 
each  change  in  his  countenance  as  he  cast  his 
eye  through  the  papers  briefly,  yet  with  attention, 
and  making  memoranda  as  he  went  along.  After 
reading  them  hastily  over,  he  looked  up,  and  seemed  ■ 
about  to  speak,  yet  changed  his  purpose,  as  if  < 
afraid  of  committing  himself  by  giving  too  hasty 
an  opinion,  and  read  over  again  several  passages  * 
which  he  had  marked  as  being  most  important.  All 
this  he  did  in  shorter  time  than  can  be  supposed  by 
men  of  ordinary  talents ; for  his  mind  was  of  that 
acute  and  penetrating  character  which  discovers, 
with  the  glance  of  intuition,  what  facts  bear  on  the 
particular  point  that  chances  to  be  subjected  to 
consideration.  At  length  he  rose,  after  a few  mi- 
nutes’ deep  reflection.  — “ Young  woman,”  said  he, 

“ your  sister’s  case  must  certainly  be  termed  a hard 
one.” 

“ God  bless  you,  sir,  for  that  very  word ! ” said 
Jeanie. 

“ It  seems  contrary  to  the  genius  of  British  law,” 
continued  the  Duke,  “ to  take  that  for  granted 


THE  HEAUT  OF  MID-LOTHIAN.  171 

which  is  not  proved,  or  to  punish  with  death  for 
a crime,  which,  for  aught  the  prosecutor  has 
been  able  to  show,  may  not  have  been  committed 
at  all." 

“ God  bless  you,  sir ! ” again  said  Jeanie,  who  had 
risen  from  her  seat,  and,  with  clasped  hands,  eyes 
glittering  through  tears,  and  features  which  trembled 
with  anxiety,  drank  in  every  word  which  the  Duke 
uttered. 

“ But  alas  ! my  poor  girl/’  he  continued,  “ what 
good  will  my  opinion  do  you,  unless  I could  impress 
it  upon  those  in  whose  hands  your  sister’s  life  is 
placed  by  the  law  ? Besides,  I am  no  lawyer ; and 
I must  speak  with  some  of  our  Scottish  gentlemen 
of  the  gown  about  the  matter.” 

“ 0 but,  sir,  what  seems  reasonable  to  your 
honour,  will  certainly  be  the  same  to  them,”  an- 
swered Jeanie. 

“ I do  not  know  that,”  replied  the  Duke ; “ ilka 
man  buckles  his  belt  his  ain  gate  — you  know  our 
old  Scotch  proverb  ? — But  you  shall  not  have 
placed  this  reliance  on  me  altogether  in  vain. 
Leave  these  papers  with  me,  and  you  shall  hear 
from  me  to-morrow  or  next  day.  Take  care  to  be 
at  home  at  Mrs.  Glass’s,  and  ready  to  come  to  me 
at  a moment’s  warning.  It  will  be  unnecessary  for 
you  to  give  Mrs.  Glass  the  trouble  to  attend  you ; — 
and,  by  the  by,  you  will  please  to  be  dressed  just  as 
you  are  at  present.” 

“ I wad  hae  putten  on  a cap,  sir,”  said  Jeanie, 
“but  your  honour  kens  it  isna  the  fashion  of  my 
country  for  single  women ; and  I judged  that  being 
sae  mony  hundred  miles  frae  hame,  your  Grace’s 
heart  wad  warm  to  the  tartan,”  looking  at  the  cor- 
ner of  her  plaid. 


172  TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 

" You  judged  quite  right,”  said  the  Duke.  “ T 
know  the  full  value  of  the  snood  ; and  MacCallum- 
more’s  heart  will  be  as  cold  as  death  can  make  it, 
when  it  does  not  warm  to  the  tartan.  Now,  go 
away,  and  don’t  be  out  of  the  way  when  I send.” 

Jeanie  replied,  — “ There  is  little  fear  of  that,  sir, 
for  I have  little  heart  to  go  to  see  sights  amang 
this  wilderness  of  black  houses.  But  if  I might 
say  to  your  gracious  honour,  that  if  ye  ever  conde- 
scend to  speak  to  ony  ane  that  is  of  greater  degree 
than  yoursell,  though  maybe  it  is  nae  civil  in  me  to 
say  sae,  just  if  you  would  think  there  can  be  nae 
sic  odds  between  you  and  them,  as  between  poor 
Jeanie  Deans  from  Saint  Leonard’s  and  the  Duke 
of  Argyle ; and  so  dinna  be  chappit  back  or  cast 
down  wi’  the  first  rough  answer.” 

“ I am  not  apt,”  said  the  Duke,  laughing,  “ to 
mind  rough  answers  much  — Do  not  you  hope  too 
much  from  what  I have  promised.  I will  do  my  * 
best,  but  God  has  the  hearts  of  Kings  in  his  own 
hand.” 

Jeanie  curtsied  reverently  and  withdrew,  at- 
tended by  the  Duke’s  gentleman,  to  her  hackney- 
coach,  with  a respect  which  her  appearance  did  not 
demand,  but  which  was  perhaps  paid  to  the  length 
of  the  interview  with  which  his  master  had  hon- 
oured her. 


CHAPTER  XIL 


-Ascend, 

While  radiant  summer  opens  all  its  pride, 

Thy  hill,  delightful  Shene  ! Here  let  us  sweep 
The  boundless  landscape. 

Thomson. 

From  her  kind  and  officious,  but  somewhat  gos- 
siping  friend,  Mrs.  Glass,  Jeanie.  underwent  a very 
close  catechism  on  their  road  to  the  Strand,  where 
the  Thistle  of  the  good  lady  flourished  in  full  glory 
and,  with  its  legend  of  Nemo  me  impune , distin- 
guished a shop  then  well  known  to  all  Scottish  folk 
of  high  and  low  degree. 

“And  were  you  sure  aye  to  say  your  Grace  to 
him  ? ” said  the  good  old  lady ; “ for  ane  should 
make  a distinction  between  MacCallummore  and 
the  bits  o’  southern  bodies  that  they  ca’  lords  here 
— there  are  as  mony  o’  them,  Jeanie,  as  would  gar 
ane  think  they  maun  cost  but  little  fash  in  the 
making  — - some  of  them  I wadna  trust  wi’  six  pen- 
nyworth of  black  rappee  — some  of  them  I wadna 
gie  my  sell  the  trouble  to  put  up  a hapny  worth  in 
brown  paper  for.  — But  I hope  you  showed  your 
breeding  to  the  Duke  of  Argyle,  for  what  sort  of 
folk  would  he  think  your  friends  in  Loudon,  if  you 
had  been  lording  him,  and  him  a Duke  ? ” 

“ He  didna  seem  muckle  to  mind,”  said  Jeanie ; 
“he  kend  that  I was  landward  bred/* 


174 


TALES  OE  MY  LANDLORD. 


“Weel,  weel,”  answered  the  good  lady.  “His 
Grace  kens  me  weel ; so  I am  the  less  anxious  about 
it.  I never  fill  his  snuff-box  but  he  says,  ‘How 
d’ye  do,  good  Mrs.  Glass  ? — How  are  all  our  friends 
in  the  North  ? ’ or  it  maybe  — ‘ Have  ye  heard  from 
the  North  lately?’  And  you  may  be  sure,  I make 
my  best  curtsy,  and  answer,  ‘ My  Lord  Duke,  I 
hope  your  Grace’s  noble  Duchess,  and  your  Grace’s 
young  ladies,  are  well ; and  I hope  the  snuff  con- 
tinues to  give  your  Grace  satisfaction/  And  then 
ye  will  see  the  people  in  the  shop  begin  to  look 
about  them  ; and  if  there’s  a Scotchman,  as  there 
may  be  three  or  half-a-dozen,  aff  go  the  hats,  and 
mony  a look  after  him,  and  ‘ there  goes  the  Prince 
of  Scotland,  God  bless  him  ! ’ But  ye  have  not  told 
me  yet  the  very  words  he  said  t’ye.” 

Jeanie  had  no  intention  to  be  quite  so  commu- 
nicative. She  had,  as  the  reader  may  have  ob- 
served, some  of  the  caution  and  shrewdness,  as  well  I 
as  of  the  simplicity,  of  her  country.  She  answered 
generally,  that  the  Duke  had  received  her  very  com-  ? 
passionately,  and  had  promised  to  interest  himself  : 
in  her  sister’s  affair,  and  to  let  her  hear  from  him 
in  the  course  of  the  next  day,  or  the  day  after.  She 
did  nor  choose  to  make  any  mention  of  his  having 
desired  her  to  be  in  readiness  to  attend  him,  far  • 
less  of  his  hint,  that  she  should  not  bring  her  land- 
lady. So  that  honest  Mrs.  Glass  was  obliged  to 
remain  satisfied  with  the  general  intelligence  above 
mentioned,  after  having  done  all  she  could  to  ex-  f 
tract  more. 

It  may  easily  be  conceived,  that,  on  the  next  day, 
Jeanie  declined  all  invitations  and  inducements, 
whether  of  exercise  or  curiosity,  to  walk  abroad, 
and  continued  to  inhale  the  close,  and  somewhat 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN. 


175 


professional  atmosphere  of  Mrs.  Glass's  small  par- 
lour. The  latter  flavour  it  owed  to  a certain  cup- 
board, containing,  among  other  articles,  a few 
canisters  of  real  Havannah,  which,  whether  from 
respect  to  the  manufacture,  or  out  of  a reverent  fear 
of  the  exciseman,  Mrs.  Glass  did  not  care  to  trust 
in  the  open  shop  below,  and  which  communicated 
to  the  room  a scent,  that,  however  fragrant  to  the 
nostrils  of  the  connoisseur,  was  not  very  agreeable 
to  those  of  Jeanie. 

“ Dear  sirs,"  she  said  to  herself,  “ I wonder  how 
my  cousin’s  silk  manty,  and  her  gowd  watch,  or 
ony  thing  in  the  world,  can  be  worth  sitting  sneez- 
ing all  her  life  in  this  little  stifling  room,  and 
might  walk  on  green  braes  if  she  liked." 

Mrs.  Glass  was  equally  surprised  at  her  cousin’s 
reluctance  to  stir  abroad,  and  her  indifference  to 
the  fine  sights  of  London.  “ It  would  always  help 
to  pass  away  the  time,"  she  said,  “ to  have  some- 
thing to  look  at,  though  ane  was  in  distress."  But 
Jeanie  was  unpersuadable. 

The  day  after  her  interview  with  the  Duke  was 
spent  in  that  “hope  delayed,  which  maketh  the 
heart  sick."  Minutes  glided  after  minutes  — hours 
fled  after  hours  — it  became  too  late  to  have  any 
reasonable  expectation  of  hearing  from  the  Duke 
that  day ; yet  the  hope  which  she  disowned,  she  could 
not  altogether  relinquish,  and  her  heart  throbbed, 
and  her  ears  tingled,  with  every  casual  sound  in  the 
shop  below.  It  was  in  vain.  The  day  wore  away  in 
the  anxiety  of  protracted  and  fruitless  expectation. 

The  next  morning  commenced  in  the  same  man- 
ner. But  before  noon,  a well-dressed  gentleman 
entered  Mrs.  Glass’s  shop,  and  requested  to  see  a 
young  woman  from  Scotland. 


176  TALES  OE  MY  LANDLORD. 

“That  will  be  my  cousin,  Jeanie  Deans,  Mr. 
Archibald/’  said  Mrs.  Glass,  with  a curtsy  of  rec- 
ognizance, “ Have  you  any  message  for  her  from 
his  Grace  the  Duke  of  Argyle,  Mr.  Archibald  ? I 
will  carry  it  to  her  in  a moment.” 

“ I believe  I must  give  her  the  trouble  of  step- 
ping down,  Mrs.  Glass.” 

“Jeanie  — Jeanie  Deans!”  said  Mrs.  Glass, 
screaming  at  the  bottom  of  the  little  staircase, 
which  ascended  from  the  corner  of  the  shop  to  the 
higher  regions.  “ Jeanie — Jeanie  Deans,  I say! 
come  down  stairs  instantly  ; here  is  the  Duke  of 
Argyle’s  groom  of  the  chambers  desires  to  see  you 
directly.”  This  was  announced  in  a voice  so  loud, 
as  to  make  all  who  chanced  to  be  within  hearing 
aware  of  the  important  communication. 

It  may  easily  be  supposed,  that  Jeanie  did  not 
tarry  long  in  adjusting  herself  to  attend  the  sum- 
mons, yet  her  feet  almost  failed  her  as  she  came  ] 
down  stairs. 

“ I must  ask  the  favour  of  your  company  a little  . 
way,”  said  Archibald,  with  civility. 

“ I am  quite  ready,  sir,”  said  Jeanie. 

“ Is  my  cousin  going  out,  Mr.  Archibald  ? then 
I will  hae  to  go  wi’  her,  no  doubt.  — James  Rasper 
— Look  to  the  shop,  James.  — Mr.  Archibald,”  r 
pushing  a jar  towards  him,  “you  take  his  Grace’s 
mixture,  I think.  Please  to  fill  your  box,  for  old  ; 
acquaintance  sake,  while  I get  on  my  things.” 

Mr.  Archibald  transposed  a modest  parcel  of 
snuff  from  the  jar  to  his  own  mull,  but  said  he  was 
obliged  to  decline  the  pleasure  of  Mrs.  Glass’s  com- 
pany, as  his  message  was  particularly  to  the  young 
person. 

“ Particularly  to  the  young  person  ? ” said  Mrs. 


THE  HEART  OE  MID-LOTHIAN. 


177 


Glass ; ‘ is  not  that  uncommon,  Mr.  Archibald  ? 
But  his  Grace  is  the  best  judge  ; and  you  are  a 
steady  person,  Mr  Archibald.  It  is  not  every  one 
that  comes  from  a great  man’s  house  I would  trust 
my  cousin  with.  — But,  Jeanie,  you  must  not  go 
through  the  streets  with  Mr,  Archibald  with  your 
tartan  what  d’ye  call  it  there  upon  your  shoulders, 
as  if  you  had  come  up  with  a drove  of  Highland  cat- 
tle. Wait  till  I bring  down  my  silk  cloak.  Why 
well  have  the  mob  after  you  ! ” 

“ I have  a hackney-coach  in  waiting,  madam/* 
said  Mr.  Archibald,  interrupting  the  officious  old 
lady,  from  whom  Jeanie  might  otherwise  have 
found  it  difficult  to  escape,  “ and,  I believe,  I must 
not  allow  her  time  for  any  change  of  dress.” 

So  saying,  he  hurried  Jeanie  into  the  coach 
while  she  internally  praised  and  wondered  at  the 
easy  manner  in  which  he  shifted  off  Mrs.  Glass’s 
officious  offers  and  enquiries,  without  mentioning 
his  master’s  orders,  or  going  into  any  explanation 
whatever. 

On  entering  the  coach,  Mr.  Archibald  seated 
himself  in  the  front  seat,  opposite  to  our  heroine, 
and  they  drove  on  in  silence.  After  they  had 
proceeded  nearly  half  an  hour,  without  a word  on 
either  side,  it  occurred  to  Jeanie,  that  the  distance 
and  time  did  not  correspond  with  that  which  had 
been  occupied  by  her  journey  on  the  former  occa- 
sion, to  and  from  the  residence  of  the  Duke  of 
Argyle.  At  length  she  could  not  help  asking  her 
taciturn  companion,  “ Whilk  way  they  were  going  ? ” 

“ My  Lord  Duke  will  inform  you  himself,  madam,” 
answered  Archibald,  with  the  same  solemn  cour- 
tesy which  • marked  his  whole  demeanour.  Al- 
most as  he  spoke,  the  hackney-coach  drew  up,  and 


178  TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 

the  coachman  dismounted  and  opened  the  door 
Archibald  got  out,  and  assisted  Jeanie  to  get  down. 
She  found  herself  in  a large  turnpike  road,  without 
the  bounds  of  London,  upon  the  other  side  of  which 
road  was  drawn  up  a plain  chariot  and  four  horses, 
the  panels  without  arms,  and  the  servants  with- 
out  liveries. 

“ You  have  been  punctual,  I see,  Jeanie,”  said 
the  Duke  of  Argyle,  as  Archibald  opened  the  car- 
riage door.  “ You  must  be  my  companion  for  the 
rest  of  the  way.  Archibald  will  remain  here  with 
the  hackney-coach  till  your  return.” 

Ere  Jeanie  could  make  answer,  she  found  her- 
self, to  her  no  small  astonishment,  seated  by  the 
side  of  a duke,  in  a carriage  which  rolled  forward 
at  a rapid  yet  smooth  rate,  very  different  in  both 
particulars  from  the  lumbering,  jolting  vehicle 
which  she  had  just  left ; and  which,  lumbering  and 
jolting  as  it  was,  conveyed  to  one  who  had  seldom 
been  in  a coach  before,  a certain  feeling  of  dignity 
and  importance.  \ 

“ Young  woman,”  said  the  Duke,  “ after  think- 
ing as  attentively  on  your  sister’s  case  as  is  in  my 
power,  I continue  to  be  impressed  with  the  belief 
that  great  injustice  may  be  done  by  the  execution 
of  her  sentence.  So  are  one  or  two  liberal  and 
intelligent  lawyers  of  both  countries  whom  I have 
spoken  with.  — Nay,  pray  hear  me  out  before  you 
thank  me.  — I have  already  told  you  my  personal 
conviction  is  of  little  consequence,  unless  I could  i 
impress  the  same  upon  others.  Now  I have  done 
for  you,  what  I would  certainly  not  have  done  to 
serve  any  purpose  of  my  own  — I have  asked  an 
audience  of  a lady  whose  interest  with  the  king  is 
deservedly  very  high.  It  has  been  allowed  me,  and 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTIIIAN. 


1 79 


I am  desirous  that  you  should  see  her  and  speak 
for  yourself.  You  have  no  occasion  to  be  abashed  ; 
tell  your  story  simply  as  you  did  to  me.” 

“ I am  much  obliged  to  your  Grace,”  said 
Jeanie,  remembering  Mrs.  Glass's  charge  ; “ and  I 
am  sure  since  I have  had  the  courage  to  speak  to 
your  Grace,  in  poor  Effie’s  cause,  I have  less  rea- 
son to  be  shame-faced  in  speaking  to  a leddy.  But, 
sir,  I would  like  to  ken  what  to  ca’  her,  whethei 
your  grace,  or  your  honour,  or  your  leddyship,  as 
we  say  to  lairds  and  leddies  in  Scotland,  and  I will 
take  care  to  mind  it;  for  I ken  leddies  are  full 
mair  particular  than  gentlemen  about  their  titles  of 
honour.” 

“ You  have  no  occasion  to  call  her  anything  but 
Madam.  Just  say  what  you  think  is  likely  to  make 
the  best  impression  — look  at  me  from  time  to  time 

— if  I put  my  hand  to  my  cravat  so,”  (showing  her 
the  motion,)  “you  will  stop;  but  I shall  only  do 
this  when  you  say  anything  that  is  not  likely  to 
please.” 

“ But,  sir,  your  Grace,”  said  Jeanie,  “ if  it  wasna 
ower  muckle  trouble,  wad  it  no  be  better  to  tell  me 
what  I should  say,  and  I could  get  it  by  heart  ? ” 

“No,  Jeanie,  that  would  not  have  the  same  effect 

— that  would  be  like  reading  a sermon,  you  know, 
which  we  good  presbyterians  think  has  less  unction 
than  when  spoken  without  book,”  replied  the  Duke. 
“Just  speak  as  plainly  and  boldly  to  this  lady,  as 
you  did  to  me  the  day  before  yesterday ; and  if  you 
can  gain  her  consent,  111  wad  ye  a plack,  as  we  say 
in  the  north,  that  you  get  the  pardon  from  the  king.” 

As  he  spoke  he  took  a pamphlet  from  his  pocket 
and  began  to  read.  Jeanie  had  good  sense  and  tact, 
which  constitute  betwixt  them  that  which  is  called 


180  TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 

natural  good  breeding.  She  interpreted  the  Duke’s 
manoeuvre  as  a hint  that  she  was  to  ask  no  more 
questions,  and  she  remained  silent  accordingly. 

The  carriage  rolled  rapidly  onwards  through  fer- 
tile meadows,  ornamented  with  splendid  old  oaks, 
and  catching  occasionally  a glance  of  the  majestic 
mirror  of  a broad  and  placid  • river.  After  passing 
through  a pleasant  village,  the  equipage  stopped  on 
a commanding  eminence,  where  the  beauty  of  Eng- 
lish landscape  was  displayed  in  its  utmost  luxuri- 
ance. Here  the  Duke  alighted,  and  desired  Jeanie 
to  follow  him.  They  paused  for  a moment  on  the 
brow  of  a hill,  to  gaze  on  the  unrivalled  landscape 
which  it  presented.  A huge  sea  of  verdure,  with 
crossing  and  intersecting  promontories  of  massive 
and  tufted  groves,  was  tenanted  by  numberless 
flocks  and  herds,  which  seemed  to  wander  unre- 
strained and  unbounded  through  the  rich  pastures. 
The  Thames,  here  turreted  with  villas,  and  there  ; 
garlanded  with  forests,  moved  on  slowly  and  pla- 
cidly, like  the  mighty  monarch  of  the  scene,  to  * 
whom  all  its  other  beauties  were  but  accessories,  , 
and  bore  on  his  bosom  an  hundred  barks  and  skiffs, 
whose  white  sails  and  gaily  fluttering  pennons  gave 
life  to  the  whole. 

The  Duke  of  Argyle  was,  of  course,  familiar 
with  this  scene  ; but  to  a man  of  taste  it  must  be  : 
always  new.  Yet,  as  he  paused  and  looked  on  this  . 
inimitable  landscape,  with  the  feeling  of  delight 
which  it  must  give  to  the  bosom  of  every  admirer 
of  nature,  his  thoughts  naturally  reverted  to  his 
own  more  grand,  and  scarce  less  beautiful,  domains 
of  Inverary.  — “ This  is  a fine  scene,”  he  said  to  his 
companion,  curious,  perhaps,  to  draw  out  her  senti- 
ments ; “ we  have  nothing  like  it  in  Scotland.” 


THE  HEART  OE  MID-LOTHIAN. 


181 


“ It’s  braw  rich  feeding  for  the  cows,  and  they 
have  a fine  breed  o'  cattle  here,”  replied  Jeanie ; 
“but  I like  just  as  weel  to  look  at  the  craigs  of 
Arthur’s  Seat,  and  the  sea  coming  in  ayont  them, 
as  at  a’  thae  muckle  trees.” 

The  Duke  smiled  at  a reply  equally  professional 
and  national,  and  made  a signal  for  the  carriage  to 
remain  where  it  was.  Then  adopting  an  unfre- 
quented foot-path,  he  conducted  Jeanie,  through 
several  complicated  mazes,  to  a postern-door  in  a 
high  brick  wall.  It  was  shut ; but  as  the  Duke 
tapped  slightly  at  it,  a person  in  waiting  within, 
after  reconnoitring  through  a small  iron  grate  con- 
trived for  the  purpose,  unlocked  the  door,  and 
admitted  them.  They  entered,  and  it  was  imme- 
diately closed  and  fastened  behind  them.  This  was 
all  done  quickly,  the  door  so  instantly  closing,  and 
the  person  who  opened  it  so  suddenly  disappear- 
ing, that  Jeanie  could  not  even  catch  a glimpse  of 
his  exterior. 

They  found  themselves  at  the  extremity  of  a 
deep  and  narrow  alley,  carpeted  with  the  most 
verdant  and  close-shaven  turf,  which  felt  like  vel- 
vet under  their  feet,  and  screened  from  the  sun  by 
the  branches  of  the  lofty  elms  which  united  over 
the  path,  and  caused  it  to  resemble,  in  the  solemn 
obscurity  of  the  light  which  they  admitted,  as  well 
as  from  the  range  of  columnar  stems,  and  intricate 
union  of  their  arched  branches,  one  of  the  narrow 
side  aisles  in  an  ancient  Gothic  cathedral. 


1 


* 

CHAPTER  XIII. 


— I beseech  you  — - 

These  tears  beseech  you,  and  these  chaste  hands  woo  you, 

That  never  yet  were  heaved  b\it  to  things  holy  — 

Things  like  yourself  — You  are  a God  above  us; 

Be  as  a God,  then,  full  of  saving  mercy  ! 

The  Bloody  Brother. 

Encouraged  as  she  was  by  the  courteous  manners 
of  her  noble  countryman,  it  was  not  without  a feel- 
ing of  something  like  terror  that  Jeanie  felt  herself 
in  a place  apparently  so  lonely,  with  a man  of  such 
high  rank.  That  she  should  have  been  permitted 
to  wait  on  the  Duke  in  his  own  house,  and  have  I 
been  there  received  to  a private  interview,  was 
in  itself  an  uncommon  and  distinguished  event  in 
the  annals  of  a life  so  simple  as  hers;  but  to  find  < 
herself  his  travelling  companion  in  a journey,  and 
then  suddenly  to  be  left  alone  with  him  in  so 
secluded  a situation,  had  something  in  it  of  awful 
mystery.  A romantic  heroine  might  have  suspected 
and  dreaded  the  power  of  her  own  charms  ; but 
Jeanie  was  too  wise  to  let  such  a silly  thought  \ 
intrude  on  her  mind.  Still,  however,  she  had  a 
most  eager  desire  to  know  where  she  now  was,  and  j 
to  whom  she  was  to  be  presented. 

She  remarked  that  the  Duke’s  dress,  though  still 
such  as  indicated  rank  and  fashion,  (for  it  was  not 
the  custom  of  men  of  quality  at  that  time  to  dress 
themselves  like  their  own  coachmen  or  grooms,) 

A,  1 


T11E  HEART  OF  MID-LOTH  [AN. 


183 


was  nevertheless  plainer  than  that  in  which  she 
had  seen  him  upon  a former  occasion,  and  was 
divested,  in  particular,  of  all  those  badges  of 
external  decoration  which  intimated  superior  con- 
sequence. I11  short,  he  was  attired  as  plainly  as 
any  gentleman  of  fashion  could  appear  in  the  streets 
of  London  in  a morning  ; and  this  circumstance 
helped  to  shake  an  opinion  which  Jeanie  began  to 
entertain,  that,  perhaps,  he  intended  she  should 
plead  her  cause  in  the  presence  of  royalty  itself. 
“ But,  surely ,”  said  she  to  herself,  “ he  wad  hae 
putten  on  his  braw  star  and  garter,  an  he  had 
thought  o’  coming  before  the  face  of  Majesty  — 
and  after  a',  this  is  mair  like  a gentleman’s  policy 
than  a royal  palace/’ 

There  was  some  sense  in  Jeanie’s  reasoning ; yet 
she  was  not  sufficiently  mistress  either  of  the  cir- 
cumstances of  etiquette,  or  the  particular  relations 
which  existed  betwixt  the  government  and  the 
Duke  of  Argyle,  to  form  an  accurate  judgment 
The  Duke,  as  we  have  said,  was  at  this  time  in 
open  opposition  to  the  administration  of  Sir  Robert 
Walpole,  and  was  understood  to  be  out  of  favour 
with  the  royal  family,  to  whom  he  had  rendered 
such  important  services.  But  it  was  a maxim  of 
Queen  Caroline,  to  bear  herself  towards  her  political 
friends  with  such  caution,  as  if  there  was  a possi- 
bility of  their  one  day  being  her  enemies,  and 
towards  political  opponents  with  the  same  degree 
of  circumspection,  as  if  they  might  again  become 
friendly  to  her  measures.  Since  Margaret  of  Anjou, 
no  queen-consort  had  exercised  such  weight  in  the 
political  affairs  of  England,  and  the  personal  address 
which  she  displayed  on  many  occasions,  had  no  small 
share  in  reclaiming  from  their  political  heresy  many 


1 84  TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 

of  those  determined  tories,  who,  after  the  reign  of 
the  Stewarts  had  been  extinguished  in  the  person 
of  Queen  Anne,  were  disposed  rather  to  transfer 
their  allegiance  to  her  brother  the  Chevalier  de  St. 
George,  than  to  acquiesce  in  the  settlement  of  the 
crowm  on  the  Hanover  family.  Her  husband,  whose 
most  shining  quality  was  courage  in  the  field  of 
battle,  and  who  endured  the  office  of  King  of  Eng- 
land, without  ever  being  able  to  acquire  English 
habits,  or  any  familiarity  with  English  dispositions 
found  the  utmost  assistance  from  the  address  of  his 
partner;  and  while  he  jealously  affected  to  do  every 
thing  according  to  his  own  will  and  pleasure,  was 
in  secret  prudent  enough  to  take  and  follow  the 
advice  of  his  more  adroit  consort.  He  intrusted  to 
her  the  delicate  office  of  determining  the  various  1 
degrees  of  favour  necessary  to  attach  the  wavering,  « 
or  to  confirm  such  as  were  already  friendly,  or  to 
regain  those  whose  good-will  had  been  lost. 

With  all  the  winning  address  of  an  elegant,  and, 
according  to  the  times,  an  accomplished  woman,  i 
Queen  Caroline  possessed  .the  masculine  soul  of  the  ! 
other  sex.  She  was  proud  by  nature,  and  even  her 
policy  could  not  always  temper  her  expressions  of 
displeasure,  although  few  were  more  ready  at  re-  ; 
pairing  any  false  step  of  this  kind,  when  her  pru-  t 
dence  came  up  to  the  aid  of  her  passions.  She  j 
loved  the  real  possession  of  power,  rather  than  the 
show  of  it,  and  whatever  she  did  herself  that  was 
either  wise  or  popular,  she  always  desired  that  the  1 
king  should  have  the  full  credit  as  well  as  the 
advantage  of  the  measure,  conscious  that,  by  add- 
ing to  his  respectability,  she  was  most  likely  to 
maintain  her  own.  And  so  desirous  was  she  to 
comply  with  all  his  tastes,  that,  when  threatened 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN. 


185 

with  the  gout,  she  had  repeatedly  had  recourse  to 
checking  the  fit,  by  the  use  of  the  cold  bath,  thereby 
endangering  her  life,  that  she  might  be  able  to  attend 
the  king  in  his  walks. 

It  was  a very  consistent  part  of  Queen  Caroline's 
character,  to  keep  up  many  private  correspondences 
with  those  to  whom  in  public  she  seemed  unfavour- 
able, or  who,  for  various  reasons,  stood  ill  with  the 
court.  By  this  means  she  kept  in  her  hands  the 
thread  of  many  a political  intrigue,  and,  without 
pledging  herself  to  any  thing,  could  often  prevent 
discontent  from  becoming  hatred,  and  opposition 
from  exaggerating  itself  into  rebellion.  If  by  any 
accident  her  correspondence  with  such  persons 
chanced  to  be  observed  or  discovered,  which  she 
took  all  possible  pains  to  prevent,  it  was  repre- 
sented as  a mere  intercourse  of  society,  having  no 
reference  to  politics ; an  answer  with  which  even 
the  prime  minister,  Sir  Robert  Walpole,  was  com- 
pelled to  remain  satisfied,  when  he  discovered  that 
the  Queen  had  given  a private  audience  to  Pulte- 
ney,  afterwards  Earl  of  Bath,  his  most  formidable 
and  most  inveterate  enemy. 

In  thus  maintaining  occasional  intercourse  with 
several  persons  who  seemed  most  alienated  from 
the  crown,  it  may  readily  be  supposed,  that  Queen 
Caroline  had  taken  care  not  to  break  entirely  with 
the  Duke  of  Argyle  His  high  birth,  his  great 
talents,  the  estimation  in  which  he  was  held  in  his 
own  country,  the  great  services  which  he  had  ren- 
dered the  house  of  Brunswick  in  1715,  placed  him 
high  in  that  rank  of  persons  who  were  not  to  be 
rashly  neglected.  He  had,  almost  by  his  single 
and  unassisted  talents,  stopped  the  irruption  of  the 
banded  force  of  all  the  Highland  chiefs ; there  was 


i8  6 


TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 


little  doubt,  that,  with  the  slightest  encouragement, 
he  could  put  them  all  in  motion,  and  renew  the 
civil  war ; and  it  was  well  known  that  the  most 
flattering  overtures  had  been  transmitted  to  the 
Duke  from  the  court  of  St.  Germains.  The  char- 
acter and  temper  of  Scotland  were  still  little  known, 
and  it  was  considered  as  a volcano,  which  might,  in- 
deed, slumber  for  a series  of  years,  but  was  still 
liable,  at  a moment  the  least  expected,  to  break  out 
into  a wasteful  eruption.  It  was,  therefore,  of  the 
highest  importance  to  retain  some  hold  over  so 
important  a personage  as  the  Duke  of  Argyle,  and 
Caroline  preserved  the  power  of  doing  so  by  means 
of  a lady,  with  whom,  as  wife  of  George  II.,  she 
might  have  been  supposed  to  be  on  less  intimate 
terms. 

It  was  not  the  least  instance  of  the  Queen’s 
address,  that  she  had  contrived  that  one  of  her 
principal  attendants,  Lady  Suffolk,  (d)  should  unite  \ 
in  her  own  person  the  two  apparently  inconsistent 
characters,  of  her  husband’s  mistress,  and  her  own 
very  obsequious  and  complaisant  confidant.  By  : 
this  dexterous  management  the  Queen  secured  her 
power  against  the  danger  which,  might  most  have 
threatened  it  — the  thwarting  influence  of  an  am- 
bitious rival ; and  if  she  submitted  to  the  mortifica-  j 
tion  of  being  obliged  to  connive  at  her  husband’s 
infidelity,  she  was  at  least  guarded  against  what  she  '< 
might  think  its  most  dangerous  effects,  and  was  be-  | 
sides  at  liberty,  now  and  then,  to  bestow  a few  civil  1 
insults  upon  “ her  good  Howard,”  whom,  however, 
in  general,  she  treated  with  great  decorum. 1 Lady 
Suffolk  lay  under  strong  obligations  to  the  Duke 
of  Argyle,  for  reasons  which  may  be  collected  from 
1 See  Horace  Walpole’s  Reminiscences. 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN. 


187 


Horace  Walpole’s  Keminiscences  of  that  reign,  and 
through  her  means  the  Duke  had  some  occasional 
correspondence  with  Queen  Caroline,  much  inter- 
rupted, however,  since  the  part  he  had  taken  in  the 
debate  concerning  the  Porteous  mob,  an  affair  which 
the  Queen,  though  somewhat  unreasonably,  was  dis- 
posed to  resent,  rather  as  an  intended  and  premedi- 
tated insolence  to  her  own  person  and  authority, 
than  as  a sudden  ebullition  of  popular  vengeance. 
Still,  however,  the  communication  remained  open 
betwixt  them,  though  it  had  been  of  late  disused 
on  both  sides.  These  remarks  will  be  found  neces- 
sary to  understand  the  scene  which  is  about  to  be 
presented  to  the  reader. 

From  the  narrow  alley  which  they  had  traversed, 
the  Duke  turned  into  one  of  the  same  character,  but 
broader  and  still  longer.  Here,  for  the  first  time 
since  they  had  entered  these  gardens,  Jeanie  saw 
persons  approaching  them. 

They  were  two  ladies ; one  of  whom  walked  a 
little  behind  the  other,  yet  not  so  much  as  to  pre- 
vent her  from  hearing  and  replying  to  whatever 
observation  was  addressed  to  her  by  the  lady  who 
walked  foremost,  and  that  without  her  having  the 
trouble  to  turn  her  person.  As  they  advanced  very 
slowly,  Jeanie  had  time  to  study  their  features  and 
appearance.  The  Duke  also  slackened  his  pace,  as 
if  to  give  her  time  to  collect  herself,  and  repeatedly 
desired  her  not  to  be  afraid.  The  lady  who  seemed 
the  principal  person  had  remarkably  good  features, 
though  somewhat  injured  by  the  small-pox,  that 
venomous  scourge,  which  each  village  Esculapius 
(thanks  to  Jenner)  can  now  tame  as  easily  as  their 
tutelary  deity  subdued  the  Python.  The  lady’s  eyes 
were  brilliant,  her  teeth  good,  and  her  countenance 


TALES  OE  MY  LANDLORD. 


1 88 

formed  to  express  at  will  either  majesty  or  courtesy. 
Her  form,  though  rather  embonpoint , was  neverthe- 
less graceful ; and  the  elasticity  and  firmness  of  her 
step  gave  no  room  to  suspect,  what  was  actually  the 
case,  that  she  suffered  occasionally  from  a disorder 
the  most  unfavourable  to  pedestrian  exercise.  Her 
dress  was  rather  rich  than  gay,  and  her  manner  com- 
manding and  noble. 

Her  companion  was  of  lower  stature,  with  light- 
brown  hair  and  expressive  blue  eyes.  Her  features, 
without  being  absolutely  regular,  were  perhaps  more 
pleasing  than  if  they  had  been  critically  handsome. 
A melancholy,  or  at  least  a pensive  expression,  for 
which  her  lot  gave  too  much  cause,  predominated 
when  she  was  silent,  but  gave  way  to  a pleasing  and* 
good-humoured  smile  when  she  spoke  to  any  one. 

When  they  were  within  twelve  or  fifteen  yards 
of  these  ladies,  the  Duke  made  a sign  that  Jeanie 
should  stand  still,  and  stepping  forward  himself,  j 
with  the  grace  which  was  natural  to  him,  made  a 
profound  obeisance,  which  was  formally,  yet  in  a \ 
dignified  manner,  returned  by  the  personage  whom  : 
he  approached. 

“ I hope,”  she  said,  with  an  affable  and  conde- 
scending smile,  “ that  I see  so  great  a stranger  at 
court,  as  the  Duke  of  Argyle  has  been  of  late,  in  as 
good  health  as  his  friends  there  and  elsewhere  could  j 
wish  him  to  enjoy.” 

The  Duke  replied,  “ That  he  had  been  perfectly  1 
well ; ” and  added,  “ that  the  necessity  of  attending  \ 
to  the  public  business  before  the  House,  as  well  as 
the  time  occupied  by  a late  journey  to  Scotland, 
had  rendered  him  less  assiduous  in  paying  his  duty 
at  the  levee  and  drawing-room  than  he  could  have 
desired.” 


THE  HEART  OE  MID-LOTHIAN. 


189 


“ When  your  Grace  can  find  time  for  a duty  so 
frivolous/'  replied  the  Queen,  “ you  are  aware  of 
your  title  to  be  well  received.  I hope  my  readiness 
to  comply  with  the  wish  which  you  expressed  yes- 
terday to  Lady  Suffolk,  is  a sufficient  proof  that  one 
of  the  royal  family,  at  least,  has  not  forgotten  an- 
cient and  important  services,  in  resenting  something 
which  resembles  recent  neglect."  This  was  said 
apparently  with  great  good-humour,  and  in  a tone 
which  expressed  a desire  of  conciliation. 

The  Duke  replied,  “ That  he  would  account  him- 
self the  most  unfortunate  of  men,  if  he  could  be 
supposed  capable  of  neglecting  his  duty,  in  modes 
and  circumstances  when  it  was  expected,  and  would 
have  been  agreeable.  He  was  deeply  gratified  by 
the  honour  which  her  Majesty  was  now  doing  to 
him  personally ; and  he  trusted  she  would  soon  per- 
ceive that  it  was  in  a matter  essential  to  his 
Majesty's  interest,  that  he  had  the  boldness  to  give 
her  this  trouble.” 

"‘You  cannot  oblige  me  more,  my  Lord  Duke," 
replied  the  Queen,  “than  by  giving  me  the  advan- 
tage of  your  lights  and  experience  on  any  point  of 
the  King's  service.  Your  Grace  is  aware,  that  I 
can  only  be  the  medium  through  which  the  matter 
is  subjected  to  his  Majesty’s  superior  wisdom ; but 
if  it  is  a suit  which  respects  your  Grace  personally, 
it  shall  lose  no  support  by  being  preferred  through 
me." 

“ It  is  no  suit  of  mine,  madam,"  replied  the  Duke  ; 
“nor  have  I any  to  prefer  for  myself  personally, 
although  I feel  in  full  force  my  obligation  to  your 
Majesty.  It  is  a business  which  concerns  his 
Majesty,  as  a lover  of  justice  and  of  mercy,  and  which, 

I am  convinced,  may  be  highly  useful  in  concilia- 


tgo  TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 

ting  the  unfortunate  irritation  which  at  present  sub- 
sists among  his  Majesty’s  good  subjects  in  Scotland.” 
There  were  two  parts  of  this  speech  disagreeable 
to  Caroline.  In  the  first  place,  it  removed  the  flat- 
tering notion  she  had  adopted,  that  Argyle  designed 
to  use  her  personal  intercession  in  making  his  peace 
with  the  administration,  and  recovering  the  employ- 
ments of  which  he  had  been  deprived ; and  next, 
she  was  displeased  that  he  should  talk  of  the  dis- 
contents in  Scotland  as  irritations  to  be  conciliated, 
rather  than  suppressed. 

Under  the  influence  of  these  feelings,  she  an- 
swered hastily,  “That  his  Majesty  has  good  sub- 
jects in  England,  my  Lord  Duke,  he  is  bound  to 
thank  God  and  the  laws — that  he  has  subjects  in 
Scotland,  I think  he  may  thank  God  and  his 
sword.” 

The  Duke,  though  a courtier,  coloured  slightly, 
and  the  Queen,  instantly  sensible  of  her  error,  added,  * 
without  displaying  the  least  change  of  countenance, 
and  as  if  the  words  had  been  an  original  branch  of  ] 
the  sentence  — “ And  the  swords  of  those  real ; 
Scotchmen  who  are  friends  to  the  House  of  Bruns- 
wick, particularly  that  of  his  Grace  of  Argyle.” 

“ My  sword,  madam,”  replied  the  Duke,  “ like 
that  of  my  fathers,  has  been  always  at  the  command 
of  my  lawful  king,  and  of  my  native  country  — I 
trust  it  is  impossible  to  separate  their  real  rights 
and  interests.  But  the  present  is  a matter  of  more 
private  concern,  and  respects  the  person  of  an  ob- 1 
scure  individual.” 

“ What  is  the  affair,  my  Lord  ? ” said  the  Queen. 

“ Let  us  find  out  what  we  are  talking  about,  lest  we 
should  misconstrue  and  misunderstand  each  other.” 
“The  matter,  madam,”  answered  the  Duke  of 


THE  HEART  OE  MID-LOTHIAN.  191 

Argyle,  “ regards  the  fate  of  an  unfortunate  young 
woman  in  Scotland,  now  lying  under  sentence  of 
death,  for  a crime  of  which  I think  it  highly  pro- 
bable  that  she  is  innocent.  And  my  humble  peti- 
tion to  your  Majesty  is,  to  obtain  your  powerful 
intercession  with  the  King  for  a pardon.” 

It  was  now  the  Queen's  turn  to  colour,  and  she 
did  so  over  cheek  and  brow  — neck  and  bosom.  She 
paused  a moment,  as  if  unwilling  to  trust  her  voice 
with  the  first  expression  of  her  displeasure  ; and  on 
assuming  an  air  of  dignity  and  an  austere  regard  of 
control,  she  at  length  replied,  “ My  Lord  Duke,  I 
will  not  ask  your  motives  for  addressing  to  me  a 
request  which  circumstances  have  rendered  sudh 
an  extraordinary  one.  Your  road  to  the  King's 
closet,  as  a peer  and  a privy-councillor,  entitled  to 
request  an  audience,  was  open,  without  giving  me 
the  pain  of  this  discussion.  /,  at  least,  have  had 
enough  of  Scotch  pardons.” 

The  Duke  was  prepared  for  this  burst  of  indig- 
nation, and  he  was  not  shaken  by  it.  He  did  not 
attempt  a reply  while  the  Queen  was  in  the  first 
heat  of  displeasure,  but  remained  in  the  same  firm, 
yet  respectful  posture,  which  he  had  assumed  dur- 
ing the  interview.  The  Queen,  trained  from  her 
situation  to  self-command,  instantly  perceived  the 
advantage  she  might  give  against  herself  by  yield- 
ing to  passion ; and  added,  in  the  same  condescend- 
ing and  affable  tone  in  which  she  had  opened  the 
interview,  “ You  must  allow  me  some  of  the  pri- 
vileges of  the  sex,  my  Lord ; and  do  not  judge 
uncharitably  of  me.  though  I am  a little  moved  at 
the  recollection  of  the  gross  insult  and  outrage  done 
in  your  capital  city  to  the  royal  authority,  at  the 
very  time  when  it  was  vested  in  my  unworthy  per- 


192  TALES  OE  MY  LANDLORD. 

son.  Your  Grace  cannot  be  surprised  that  I should 
both  have  felt  it  at  the  time,  and  recollected  it 
now.” 

“ It  is  certainly  a matter  not  speedily  to  be  forgot- 
ten,” answered  the  Duke.  “ My  own  poor  thoughts 
of  it  have  been  long  before  your  Majesty,  and  I 
must  have  expressed  myself  very  ill  if  I did  not 
convey  my  detestation  of  the  murder  which  was 
committed  under  such  extraordinary  circumstances. 
I might,  indeed,  be  so  unfortunate  as  to  differ  with 
his  Majesty’s  advisers  on  the  degree  in  which  it  was 
either  just  or  politic  to  punish  the  innocent  instead 
of  the  guilty.  But  I trust  your  Majesty  will  per- 
mit me  to  be  silent  on  a topic  in  which  my  senti- 
ments have  not  the  good  fortune  to  coincide  with 
those  of  more  able  men.” 

“We  will  not  prosecute  a topic  on  which  we 
may  probably  differ,”  said  the  Queen.  “ One  word, 
however,  I may  say  in  private  — ‘You  know  our  good ' 
Lady  Suffolk  is  a little  deaf  — the  Duke  of  Argyle, 
when  disposed  to  renew  his  acquaintance  with  his  i 
master  and  mistress,  will  hardly  find  many  topics ; 
on  which  we  should  disagree.” 

“ Let  me  hope,”  said  the  Duke,  bowing  profoundly 
to  so  flattering  an  intimation,  “ that  I shall  not  be 
so  unfortunate  as  to  have  found  one  on  the  present 
occasion.” 

“I  must  first  impose  on  your  Grace  the  duty  of 
confession,”  said  the  Queen,  “before  I grant  you 
absolution.  What  is  your  particular  interest  in 
this  young  woman  ? She  does  not  seem  ” (and  she 
scanned  Jeanie,  as  she  said  this,  with  the  eye  of  a 
connoisseur)  “ much  qualified  to  alarm  my  friend 
the  Duchess’s  jealousy.” 

“I  think  your  Majesty,”  replied  the  Duke,  smi- 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN.  193 

ling  in  his  turn,  “ will  allow  my  taste  may  be  a 
pledge  for  me  on  that  score.” 

“ Then,  though  she  has  not  much  the  air  of  d’une 
grande  dame , I suppose  she  is  some  thirtieth  cousin 
in  the  terrible  chapter  of  Scottish  genealogy  ? ” 

“No,  madam,”  said  the  Duke ; “but  I wish  some 
of  my  nearer  relations  had  half  her  worth,  honesty, 
and  affection.” 

“ Her  name  must  be  Campbell,  at  least  ? ” said 
Queen  Caroline. 

“ No,  madam  ; her  name  is  not  quite  so  distin- 
guished, if  I may  be  permitted  to  say  so,”  answered 
the  Duke. 

“ Ah ! but  she  comes  from  Inverary  or  Argyle- 
shire  ? ” said  the  Sovereign. 

“ She  has  never  been  farther  north  in  her  life 
than  Edinburgh,  madam.” 

“ Then  my  conjectures  are  all  ended,”  said  the 
Queen,  “and  your  Grace  must  yourself  take  the 
trouble  to  explain  the  affair  of  your  protegde.” 

With  that  precision  and  easy  brevity  which  is 
only  acquired  by  habitually  conversing  in  the  higher 
ranks  of  society,  and  which  is  the  diametrical  op- 
posite of  that  protracted  style  of  disquisition, 

“Which  squires  call  potter,  and  which  men  call  prose,” 

the  Duke  explained  the  singular  law  under  which 
Effie  Deans  had  received  sentence  of  death,  and 
detailed  the  affectionate  exertions  which  Jeanie  had 
made  in  behalf  of  a sister,  for  whose  sake  she  was 
willing  to  sacrifice  all  but  truth  and  conscience. 

Queen  Caroline  listened  with  attention ; she  was 
rather  fond,  it  must  be  remembered,  of  an  argu- 
ment, and  soon  found  matter  in  what  the  Duke 
told  her  for  raising  difficulties  to  his  request 


194 


TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 


“ It  appears  to  me,  my  Lord,”  she  replied,  “ that 
this  is  a severe  law.  But  still  it  is  adopted  upon 
good  grounds,  I am  bound  to  suppose,  as  the  law 
of  the  country,  and  the  girl  has  been  convicted 
under  it.  The  very  presumptions  which  the  law 
construes  into  a positive  proof  of  guilt  exist  in  her 
case ; and  all  that  your  Grace  has  said  concerning 
the  possibility  of  her  innocence  may  be  a very  good 
argument  for  annulling  the  Act  of  Parliament,  but 
cannot,  while  it  stands  good,  be  admitted  in  favour 
of  any  individual  convicted  upon  the  statute.” 

The  Duke  saw  and  avoided  the  snare  ; for  he  war 
conscious,  that,  by  replying  to  the  argument,  he 
must  have  been  inevitably  led  to  a discussion,  in 
the  course  of  which  the  Queen  was  likely  to  be 
hardened  in  her  own  opinion,  until  she  became 
obliged,  out  of  mere  respect  to  consistency,  to  let 
the  criminal  suffer.  “If  your  Majesty,”  he  said, 

“ would  condescend  to  hear  my  poor  countrywoman  \ 
herself,  perhaps  she  may  find  an  advocate  in  your 
own  heart,  more  able  than  I am,  to  combat  the  , 
doubts  suggested  by  your  understanding.” 

The  Queen  seemed  to  acquiesce,  and  the  Duke 
made  a signal  for  Jeanie  to  advance  from  the  spot 
where  she  had  hitherto  remained  watching  counte- 
nances, which  were  too  long  accustomed  to  suppress 
all  apparent  signs  of  emotion,  to  convey  to  her  any 
interesting  intelligence.  Her  Majesty  could  not  1 
help  smiling  at  the  awe-struck  manner  in  which 
the  quiet  demure  figure  of  the  little  Scotchwoman 
advanced  towards  her,  and  yet  more  at  the  first 
sound  of  her  broad  northern  accent.  But  Jeanie 
had  a voice  low  and  sweetly  toned,  an  admirable 
thing  in  woman,  and  eke  besought  “ her  Leddyship 
to  have  pity  on  a poor  misguided  young  creature,” 


m lIBRMtY 

OF  TO 

isiiiasw  if  mm 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN. 


I9S 

in  tones  so  affecting,  that,  like  the  notes  of  some  of 
her  native  songs,  provincial  vulgarity  was  lost  in 
pathos. 

“ Stand  up,  young  woman,”  said  the  Queen,  but 
in  a kind  tone,  “ and  tell  me  what  sort  of  a barbar- 
ous people  your  countryfolk  are,  where  child-mur- 
der is  become  so  common  as  to  require  the  restraint 
of  laws  like  yours  ? ” 

“If  your  Leddyship  pleases,”  answered  Jeanie, 
“there  are  mony  places  beside  Scotland  where 
mothers  are  unkind  to  their  ain  flesh  and  blood.” 

It  must  be  observed,  that  the  disputes  between 
George  the  Second,  and  Frederick,  Prince  of  Wales, 
were  then  at  the  highest,  and  that  the  good-na- 
tured part  of  the  public  laid  the  blame  on  the 
Queen.  She  coloured  highly,  and  darted  a glance 
of  a most  penetrating  character  first  at  Jeanie,  and 
then  at  the  Duke.  Both  sustained  it  unmoved; 
Jeanie  from  total  unconsciousness  of  the  offence 
she  had  given,  and  the  Duke  from  his  habitual 
composure.  But  in  his  heart  he  thought,  My  un- 
lucky protegee  has,  with  this  luckless  answer,  shot 
dead,  by  a kind  of  chance-medley,  her  only  hope 
of  success. 

Lady  Suffolk,  good-humouredly  and  skilfully, 
interposed  in  this  awkward  crisis.  “You  should 
tell  this  lady,”  she  said  to  Jeanie,  “the  particular 
causes  which  render  this  crime  common  in  your 
country.” 

“ Some  thinks  it’s  the  Kirk-Session  — that  is  — 
it  s the  — it’s  the  cutty-stool,  if  your  Leddyship 
pleases,”  said  J eanie,  looking  down,  and  curtsying. 

“ The  what  ? ” said  Lady  Suffolk,  to  whom  the 
phrase  was  new,  and  who  besides  was  rather  deaf. 

“ That’s  the  stool  of  repentance,  madam,  if  it 


196 


TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 


please  your  Leddyship answered  Jeanie,  “ for 
light  life  and  conversation,  and  for  breaking  the 
seventh  command.”  Here  she  raised  her  eyes  to 
the  Duke,  saw  his  hand  at  his  chin,  and,  totally 
unconscious  of  what  she  had  said  out  of  joint,  gave 
double  effect  to  the  innuendo,  by  stopping  short 
and  looking  embarrassed. 

As  for  Lady  Suffolk,  she  retired  like  a covering 
party,  which,  having  interposed  betwixt  their  re- 
treating friends  and  the  enemy,  have  suddenly 
drawn  on  themselves  a fire  unexpectedly  severe. 

The  deuce  take  the  lass,  thought  the  Duke  of 
Argyle  to  himself : there  goes  another  shot  — and 
she  has  hit  with  both  barrels  right  and  left ! 

Indeed  the  Duke  had  himself  his  share  of  the 
confusion,  for,  having  acted  as  master  of  ceremo- 
nies to  this  innocent  offender,  he  felt  much  in  the 
circumstances  of  a country  squire,  who,  having 
introduced  his  spaniel  into  a well-appointed  draw-  s 
ing-room,  is  doomed  to  witness  the  disorder  and 
damage  which  arises  to  china  and  to  dress-gowns,  in  ? 
consequence  of  its  untimely  frolics.  Jeanie’s  last' 
chance-hit,  however,  obliterated  the  ill  impression 
which  had  arisen  from  the  first;  for  her  Majesty 
had  not  so  lost  the  feelings  of  a wife  in  those  of  a 
Queen,  but  that  she  could  enjoy  a jest  at  the  ex-; 
pense  of  “her  good  Suffolk.’,  She  turned  towards 
the  Duke  of  Argyle  with  a smile,  which  marked' 
that  she  enjoyed  the  triumph,  and  observed,  “ the 
Scotch  are  a rigidly  moral  people.”  Then  again* 
applying  herself  to  Jeanie,  she  asked,  how  she 
travelled  up  from  Scotland. 

“Upon  my  foot  mostly,  madam,”  was  the  reply. 

“ What,  all  that  immense  way  upon  foot  ? — How 
far  can  you  walk  in  a day  ? ” 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN. 


197 


4 Five  and  twenty  miles  and  a bittock .” 

“ And  a what  ? ” said  the  Queen,  looking  towards 
the  Duke  of  Argyle. 

“ And  about  five  miles  more,”  replied  the  Duke. 

“ I thought  I was  a good  walker,”  said  the  Queen, 
“ but  this  shames  me  sadly.” 

“ May  your  Leddyship  never  hae  sae  weary  a 
heart,  that  ye  canna  be  sensible  of  the  weariness  of 
the  limbs  !”  said  Jeanie. 

That  came  better  off,  thought  the  Duke ; it’s  the 
first  thing  she  has  said  to  the  purpose. 

“ And  I didna  just  a’thegether  walk  the  haill  way 
neither,  for  I had  whiles  the  cast  of  a cart ; and  I 
had  the  cast  of  a horse  from  Ferrybridge  — and 
divers  other  easements,”  said  Jeanie,  cutting  short 
her  story,  for  she  observed  the  Duke  made  the  sign 
he  had  fixed  upon. 

“With  all  these  accommodations,”  answered  the 
Queen,  “you  must  have  had  a very  fatiguing  jour- 
ney, and,  I fear,  to  little  purpose  ; since,  if  the  King 
were  to  pardon  your  sister,  in  all  probability  it 
would  do  her  little  good,  for  I suppose  your  people 
of  Edinburgh  would  hang  her  out  of  spite.” 

She  will  sink  herself  now  outright,  thought  the 
Duke. 

But  he  was  wrong.  The  shoals  on  which  Jeanie 
had  touched  in  this  delicate  conversation  lay  under 
ground,  and  were  unknown  to  her ; this  rock  was 
above  water,  and  she  avoided  it. 

“ She  was  confident,”  she  said,  “ that  baith  town 
and  country  wad  rejoice  to  see  his  Majesty  taking 
compassion  on  a poor  unfriended  creature.” 

“ His  Majesty  has  not  found  it  so  in  a late  in- 
stance,” said  the  Queen  ; “ but,  I suppose,  my  Lord 
Duke  would  advise  him  to  be  guided  by  the  votes 


198 


TALES  OE  MY  LANDLORD. 


of  the  rabble  themselves,  who  should  be  hanged 
and  who  spared  ? ” 

“No,  madam,”  said  the  Duke;  “but  I would 
advise  his  Majesty  to  be  guided  by  his  own  feel- 
ings, and  those  of  his  royal  consort ; and  then,  I 
am  sure,  punishment  will  only  attach  itself  to  guilt, 
and  even  then  with  cautious  reluctance.” 

“Well,  my  Lord,”  said  her  Majesty,  “all  these 
fine  speeches  do  not  convince  me  of  the  propriety 
of  so  soon  showing  any  mark  of  favour  to  your  — I 
suppose  I must  not  say  rebellious  ? — but,  at  least, 
your  very  disaffected  and  intractable  metropolis. 
Why,  the  whole  nation  is  in  a league  to  screen  the 
savage  -and  abominable  murderers  of  that  unhappy 
man ; otherwise,  how  is  it  possible  but  that,  of  so 
many  perpetrators,  and  engaged  in  so  public  an 
action  for  such  a length  of  time,  one  at  least  must 
have  been  recognised  ? Even  this  wench,  for  aught 
I can  tell,  may  be  a depository  of  the  secret. — Hark  ] 

you,  young  woman,  had  you  any  friends  engaged 
in  the  Porteous  mob  ? ” ] 

“ No,  madam,”  answered  Jeanie,  happy  that  the 
question  was  so  framed  that  she  could,  with  a good 
conscience,  answer  it  in  the  negative. 

“ But  I suppose,”  continued  the  Queen,  “ if  you 
were  possessed  of  such  a secret,  you  would  hold  it 
matter  of  conscience  to  keep  it  to  yourself  ? ” 

“I  would  pray  to  be  directed  and  guided  what  t) 
was  the  line  of  duty,  madam,”  answered  Jeanie.  ZSJ 
“Yes,  and  take  that  which  suited  your  own  l 
inclinations,”  replied  her  Majesty. 

“If  it  like  you,  madam,”  said  Jeanie,  “I  would 
hae  gaen  to  the  end  of  the  earth  to  save  the  life  of 
John  Porteous,  or  any  other  unhappy  man  in  his 
condition  ; but  I might  lawfully  doubt  how  far  I 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN. 


l99 


am  called  upon  to  be  the  avenger  of  liis  blood, 
though  it  may  become  the  civil  magistrate  to  do  so. 
He  is  dead  and  gane  to  his  place,  and  they  that 
have  slain  him  must  answer  for  their  ain  act.  But 
my  sister  — my  puir  sister  Effie,  still  lives,  though 
her  days  and  hours  are  numbered  ! — She  still  lives, 
and  a word  of  the  King's  mouth  might  restore  her 
to  a broken-hearted  auld  man,  that  never,  in  his 
daily  and  nightly  exercise,  forgot  to  pray  that  his 
Majesty  might  be  blessed  with  a long  and  a pros- 
perous reign,  and  that  his  throne,  and  the  throne 
of  his  posterity,  might  be  established  in  righteous- 
ness. 0,  madam,  if  ever  ye  kend  what  it  was  to 
sorrow  for  and  with  a sinning  and  a suffering  crea- 
ture, whose  mind  is  sae  tossed  that  she  can  be 
neither  ca’d  fit  to  live  or  die,  have  some  compassion 
on  our  misery  ! — Save  an  honest  house  from  dis- 
honour, and  an  unhappy  girl,  not  eighteen  years  of 
age,  from  an  early  and  dreadful  death  ! Alas  ! it  is 
not  when  we  sleep  soft  and  wake  merry  ourselves, 
that  we  think  on  other  people’s  sufferings.  Our 
hearts  are  waxed  light  within  us  then,  and  we  are 
for  righting  our  ain  wrangs  and  fighting  our  ain 
battles.  But  when  the  hour  of  trouble  comes  to 
the  mind  or  to  the  body  — and  seldom  may  it  visit 
your  Leddyship  — and  when  the  hour  of  death 
comes,  that  comes  to  high  and  low  — lang  and  late 
may  it  be  yours  — 0,  my  Leddy,  then  it  isna  what 
we  hae  dune  for  oursells,  but  what  we  hae  dune  foj, 
others,  that  we  think  on  maist  pleasantly.  And 
the  thoughts  that  ye  hae  intervened  to  spare  the 
puir  thing’s  life  will  be  sweeter  in  that  hour,  come 
when  it  may,  than  if  a word  of  your  mouth  could 
hang  the  haill  Porteous  mob  at  the  tail  of  ae  tow.” 
Tear  followed  tear  down  Jeanie’s  cheeks,  as,  her 


200 


TALES  0E  MI  LANDLORD. 


features  glowing  and  quivering  with  emotion,  she 
pleaded  her  sister’s  cause  with  a pathos  which  was 
at  once  simple  and  solemn. 

“This  is  eloquence,”  said  her  Majesty  to  the 
Duke  of  Argyle.  “ Young  woman,”  she  continued, 
addressing  herself  to  Jeanie,  “ I cannot  grant  a par- 
don to  your  sister  — but  you  shall  not  want  my 
warm  intercession  with  his  Majesty.  Take  this 
housewife  case,”  she  continued,  putting  a small 
embroidered  needle-case  into  Jeanie’s  hands ; “ do 
not  open  it  now,  but  at  your  leisure  you  will  find 
something  in  it  which  will  remind  you  that  you 
have  had  an  interview  with  Queen  Caroline.” 

Jeanie,  having  her  suspicions  thus  confirmed, 
dropped  on  her  knees,  and  would  have  expanded 
herself  in  gratitude ; but  the  Duke,  who  was  upon 
thorns  lest  she  should  say  more  or  less  than  just 
enough,  touched  his  chin  once  more. 

“Our  business  is,  I think,  ended  for  the  present, 
my  Lord  Duke,”  said  the  Queen,  “ and,  I trust,  to 
your  satisfaction.  Hereafter  I hope  to  see  your 
Grace  more  frequently,  both  at  Richmond  and  St 
James’s. — Come,  Lady  Suffolk,  we  »must  wish  his 
Grace  good  morning.” 

They  exchanged  their  parting  reverences,  and 
the  Duke,  so  soon  as  the  ladies  had  turned  their 
backs,  assisted  Jeanie  to  rise  from  the  ground,  and 
conducted  her  back  through  the  avenue,  which  she 
trode  with  the  feeling  of  one  who  walks  in  her 
sleep. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 


So  soon  as  I can  win  the  offended  King, 
i will  be  known  your  advocate. 

C/jmbeline. 

The  Duke  of  Argyle  led  the  way  in  silence  to  the 
small  postern  by  which  they  had  been  admitted 
into  Richmond  Park,  so  long  the  favourite  resi- 
dence of  Queen  Caroline.  It  was  opened  by  the 
same  half-seen  janitor,  and  they  found  themselves 
beyond  the  precincts  of  the  royal  demesne.  Still 
not  a word  was  spoken  on  either  side.  The  Duke 
probably  wished  to  allow  his  rustic  protegee  time 
to  recruit  her  faculties,  dazzled  and  sunk  with 
colloquy  sublime ; and  betwixt  what  she  had 
guessed,  had  heard,  and  had  seen,  Jeanie  Deans’s 
mind  was  too  much  agitated  to  permit  her  to  ask 
any  questions. 

They  found  the  carriage  of  the  Duke  in  the  place 
where  they  had  left  it ; and  when  they  resumed 
their  places,  soon  began  to  advance  rapidly  on  their 
return  to  town. 

“I  think,  Jeanie,”  said  the  Duke,  breaking  si- 
lence, “ you  have  every  reason  to  congratulate 
yourself  on  the  issue  of  your  interview  with  her 
Majesty/’ 

“ And  that  leddy  was  the  Queen  hersell  ? ” said 
Jeanie ; “ I misdoubted  it  when  I saw  that  your 
honour  didna  put  on  your  hat  — And  yet  I can 
hardly  believe  it,  even  when  I heard  her  speak  it 
hersell.” 


202 


TALES  0E  MY  LANDLORD. 


“It  was  certainly  Queen  Caroline/'  replied  the 
Duke.  “ Have  you  no  curiosity  to  see  what  is  in 
the  little  pocket-book  ? ” 

“Do  you  think  the  pardon  will  be  in  it,  sir?” 
said  Jeanie,  with  the  eager  animation  of  hope. 

“ Why,  no,"  replied  the  Duke ; “ that  is  unlikely. 
They  seldom  carry  these  things  about  them,  unless 
they  were  likely  to  be  wanted;  and,  besides,  her 
Majesty  told  you  it  was  the  King,  not  she,  who 
was  to  grant  it." 

“That  is.  true  too,"  said  Jeanie;  “but  I am  so 
confused  in  my  mind  — But  does  your  honour  think 
there  is  a certainty  of  Effie’s  pardon  then  ? " con- 
tinued she,  still  holding  in  her  hand  the  unopened 
pocket-book. 

“ Why,  kings  are  kittle  cattle  to  shoe  behind,  as 
we  say  in  the  north,"  replied  the  Duke ; “ but  his 
wife  knows  his  trim,  and  I have  not  the  least  doubt 
that  the  matter  is  quite  certain." 

“O  God  be  praised!  God  be  praised!"  ejacula- 
ted Jeanie ; “ and  may  the  gude  leddy  never  want  < 
the  heart's  ease  she  has  gien  me  at  this  moment  — 
And  God  bless  you  too,  my  Lord ! without  your 
help  I wad  ne'er  hae  won  near  her." 

The  Duke  let  her  dwell  upon  this  subject  for  a 
considerable  time,  curious,  perhaps,  to  see  how  long 
the  feelings  of  gratitude  would  continue  to  super-  | 
sede  those  of  curiosity.  But  so  feeble  was  the  lat- 
ter feeling  in  Jeanie's  mind,  that  his  Grace,  with 
whom,  perhaps,  it  was  for  the  time  a little  stronger, 
was  obliged  once  more  to  bring  forward  the  subject 
of  the  Queen's  present.  It  was  opened  accordingly. 

In  the  inside  of  the  case  were  the  usual  assortment 
of  silk  and  needles,  with  scissors,  tweezers,  &c. ; and 
in  the  pocket  was  a bank-bill  for  fifty  pounds. 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN.  203 

The  Duke  had  no  sooner  informed  Jeanie  of  the 
value  of  this  last  document,  for  she  was  unaccus- 
tomed to  see  notes  for  such  sums,  than  she  ex- 
pressed her  regret  at  the  mistake  which  had  taken 
place.  “For  the  hussy  itsell,”  she  said,  “was  a 
very  valuable  thing  for  a keepsake,  with  the  Queen’s 
name  written  in  the  inside  with  her  ain  hand  doubt- 
less — Caroline  — as  plain  as  could  be,  and  a crown 
drawn  aboon  it.” 

She  therefore  tendered  the  bill  to  the  Duke, 
requesting  him  to  find  some  mode  of  returning  it 
to  the  royal  owner. 

“No,  no,  Jeanie,”  said  the  Duke,  “ there  is  no 
mistake  in  the  case.  Her  Majesty  knows  you  have 
been  put  to  great  expense,  and  she  wishes  to  make 
it  up  to  you.” 

“ I am  sure  she  is  even  ower  gude,”  said  Jeanie, 
“ and  it  glads  me  muckle  that  I can  pay  back  Dum- 
biedikes  his  siller,  without  distressing  my  father, 
honest  man.” 

“ Dumbiedikes  ? What,  a freeholder  of  Mid- 
Lothian,  is  he  not  ? ” said  his  Grace,  whose  occa- 
sional residence  in  that  county  made  him  acquainted 
with  most  of  the  heritors,  as  landed  persons  are 
termed  in  Scotland  — “He  has  a house  not  far 
from  Dalkeith,  wears  a black  wig  and  a laced 
hat?” 

“Yes,  sir,”  answered  Jeanie,  who  had  her  reasons 
for  being  brief  in  her  answers  upon  this  topic. 

“ Ah ! my  old  friend  Dumbie ! ” said  the  Duke  ; 
“ I have  thrice  seen  him  fou,  and  only  once  heard 
the  sound  of  his  voice  — Is  he  a cousin  of  yours 
Jeanie  ? ” 

“ No,  sir,  — my  Lord.” 

“ Then  he  must  be  a well-wisher,  I suspect  ? ” 


204 


TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 


“ Ye  — yes,  — my  Lord,  sir,”  answered  Jeanie, 
blushing,  and  with  hesitation. 

“Aha!  then,  if  the  Laird  starts,  I suppose  my 
friend  Butler  must  be  in  some  danger  ? ” 

“ O no,  sir,”  answered  Jeanie  much  more  read- 
ily, but  at  the  same  time  blushing  much  more 
deeply. 

“Well,  Jeanie,”  said  the  Duke,  “you  are  a girl 
may  be  safely  trusted  with  your  own  matters,  and 
I shall  enquire  no  further  about  them.  But  as 
to  this  same  pardon,  I must  see  to  get  it  passed 
through  the  proper  forms ; and  I have  a friend  in 
office  who  will,  for  auld  lang  syne,  do  me  so  much 
favour.  And  then,  Jeanie,  as  I shall  have  occasion 
to  send  an  express  down  to  Scotland,  who  will 
travel  with  it  safer  and  more  swiftly  than  you  can 
do,  I will  take  care  to  have  it  put  into  the  proper 
channel ; meanwhile,  you  may  write  to  your  friends, 
by  post,  of  your  good  success.” 

“And  does  your  Honour  think,”  said  Jeanie, 
“ that  will  do  as  weel  as  if  I were  to  take  my  tap 
in  my  lap,  and  slip  my  ways  hame  again  on  my  ain 
errand  ? ” 

“ Much  better,  certainly,”  said  the  Duke.  “ You 
know  the  roads  are  not  very  safe  for  a single  woman 
to  travel.” 

Jeanie  internally  acquiesced  in  this  observation. 

“ And  I have  a plan  for  you  besides.  One  of 
the  Duchess’s  attendants,  and  one  of  mine  — your 
acquaintance  Archibald  — are  going  down  to  Inver- 
ary in  a light  calash,  with  four  horses  I have  bought, 
and  there  is  room  enough  in  the  carriage  for  you 
to  go  with  them  as  far  as  Glasgow,  where  Archi- 
bald will  find  means  of  sending  you  safely  to  Edin- 
burgh — And  in  the  way,  I beg  you  will  teach  the 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTIIIAN. 


205 


woman  as  much  as  you  can  of  the  mystery  of  cheese- 
making, for  she  is  to  have  a charge  in  the  dairy, 
and  I dare  swear  you  are  as  tidy  about  your  milk- 
pail  as  about  your  dress” 

• “ Does  your  honour  like  cheese  ? ” said  Jeanie, 
with  a gleam  of  conscious  delight  as  she  asked  the 
question. 

“ Like  it  ? ” said  the  Duke,  whose  good-nature 
anticipated  what  was  to  follow,  — “ cakes  and 
cheese  are  a dinner  for  an  emperor,  let  alone  a 
Highlandman.” 

“ Because,”  said  Jeanie,  with  modest  confidence, 
and  great  and  evident  self-gratulation,  “ we  have 
been  thought  so  particular  in  making  cheese,  that 
some  folk  think  it  as  gude  as  the  real  Dunlop ; and 
if  your  Honour’s  Grace  wad  but  accept  a stane  or 
twa,  blithe,  and  fain,  and  proud  it  wad  make  us  1 
But  maybe  ye  may  like  the  ewe-milk,  that  is,  the 
Buckholmside  1 cheese  better  ; or  maybe  the  gait- 
milk,  as  ye  come  frae  the  Highlands  — and  I canna 
pretend  just  to  the  same  skeel  o’  them  ; but  my 
cousin  Jean,  that  lives  at  Lockermachus  in  Lam- 
mermuir,  I could  speak  to  her,  and  ” — — 

“ Quite  unnecessary,”  said  the  Duke  ; “ the  Dunlop 
is  the  very  cheese  of  which  I am  so  fond,  and  I 
will  take  it  as  the  greatest  favour  you  can  do  me  to 
send  one  to  Caroline-Park.  But  remember,  be  on 
honour  with  it,  Jeanie,  and  make  it  all  yourself,  for 
I am  a real  good  judge.” 

“ I am  not  feared,”  said  Jeanie,  confidently,  “ that 

1 The  hilly  pastures  of  Buckholm,  which  the  author  now7 
surveys, 

“ Not  in  the  frenzy  of  a dreamer’s  eye,” 

are  famed  for  producing  the  best  ewe-milk  cheese  in  the  south  of 
Scotland. 


206 


TALES  OE  MY  LANDLORD. 


I may  please  your  Honour ; for  I am  sure  you 
look  as  if  you  could  hardly  find  fault  wi’  ony  body 
that  did  their  best  * and  weel  is  it  my  part,  I trow, 
to  do  mine.” 

This  discourse  introduced  a topic  upon  which 
the  two  travellers,  though  so  different  in  rank  and 
education,  found  each  a good  deal  to  say.  The 
Duke,  besides  his  other  patriotic  qualities,  was  a 
distinguished  agriculturist,  and  proud  of  his  know- 
ledge in  that  department.  He  entertained  Jeanie 
with  his  observations  on  the  different  breeds  of 
cattle  in  Scotland,  and  their  capacity  for  the  dairy, 
and  received  so  much  information  from  her  practi- 
cal experience  in  return,  that  he  promised  her  a 
couple  of  Devonshire  cows  in  reward  for  the  lesson. 
In  short,  his  mind  was  so  transported  back  to  his 
rural  employments  and  amusements,  that  he  sighed 
when  his  carriage  stopped  opposite  to  the  old  hack- 
ney-coach, which  Archibald  had  kept  in  attendance 
at  the  place  where  they  had  left  it.  While  the 
coachman  again  bridled  his  lean  cattle,  which  had 
been  indulged  with  a bite  of  musty  hay,  the  Duke 
cautioned  Jeanie  not  to  be  too  communicative  to 
her  landlady  concerning  what  had  passed.  “ There 
is,”  he  said,  “ no  use  of  speaking  of  matters  till 
they  are  actually  settled  ; and  you  may  refer  the 
good  lady  to  Archibald,  if  she  presses  you  hard 
with  questions.  She  is  his  old  acquaintance,  and 
he  knows  how  to  manage  with  her.” 

He  then  took  a cordial  farewell  of  Jeanie,  and 
told  her  to  be  ready  in  the  ensuing  week  to  return 
to  Scotland  — saw  her  safely  established  in  her 
hackney-coach,  and  rolled  off  in  his  own  carriage, 
humming  a stanza  of  the  ballad  which  he  is  said  to 
have  composed  — 


THE  HEART  OE  MID-LOTHIAN. 


207 


“ At  the  sight  of  Dunbarton  once  again, 

I’ll  cock  up  my  bonnet  and  march  amain, 

With  my  claymore  hanging  down  to  my  heel, 

To  whang  at  the  bannocks  of  barley  meal.” 

Perhaps  one  ought  to  be  actually  a Scotchman 
to  conceive  how  ardently,  under  all  distinctions  of 
rank  and  situation,  they  feel  their  mutual  con- 
nexion with  each  other  as  natives  of  the  same 
country.  There  are,  I believe,  more  associations 
common  to  the  inhabitants  of  a rude  and  wild,  than 
of  a well  - cultivated  and  fertile  country ; their 
ancestors  have  more  seldom  changed  their  place  of 
residence ; their  mutual  recollection  of  remarkable 
objects  is  more  accurate ; the  high  and  the  low  are 
more  interested  in  each  other’s  welfare ; the  feelings 
of  kindred  and  relationship  are  more  widely  extended, 
and,  in  a word,  the  bonds  of  patriotic  affection, 
always  honourable  even  when  a little  too  exclusively 
strained,  have  more  influence  on  men’s  feelings  and 
actions. 

The  rumbling  hackney-coach  which  tumbled  over 
the  (then)  execrable  London  pavement,  at  a rate 
very  different  from  that  which  had  conveyed  the 
ducal  carriage  to  Richmond,  at  length  deposited 
Jeanie  Deans  and  her  attendant  at  the  national  sign 
of  the  Thistle.  Mrs.  Glass,  who  had  been  in  long 
and  anxious  expectation,  now  rushed,  full  of  eager 
curiosity  and  open-mouthed  interrogation,  upon 
our  heroine,  who  was  positively  unable  to  sustain 
the  overwhelming  cataract  of  her  questions,  which 
burst  forth  with  the  sublimity  of  a grand  gardyloo : 
— “ Had  she  seen  the  Duke,  God  bless  him  — the 
Duchess  — the  young  ladies  ? — Had  she  seen  the 
King,  God  bless  him  — the  Queen  — the  Prince  of 
Wales  — the  Princess  — or  any  of  the  rest  of  the 


208 


TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 


royal  family  ? — Had  she  got  her  sister’s  pardon  ? 
— Was  it  out  and  out  — or  was  it  only  a commuta- 
tion of  punishment  ? — How  far  had  she  gone  — 
where  had  she  driven  to  — whom  had  she  seen  — 
what  had  been  said  — what  had  kept  her  so 
long  ? ” 

Such  were  the  various  questions  huddled  upon 
each  other  by  a curiosity  so  eager,  that  it  could 
hardly  wait  for  its  own  gratification.  Jeanie  would 
have  been  more  than  sufficiently  embarrassed  by  this 
overbearing  tide  of  interrogations,  had  not  Archi- 
bald, who  had  probably  received  from  his  master  a 
hint  to  that  purpose,  advanced  to  her  rescue.  “ Mrs. 
Glass,”  said  Archibald,  “ his  Grace  desired  me  par- 
ticularly to  say,  that  he  would  take  it  as  a great 
favour  if  you  would  ask  the  young  woman  no  ques- 
tions, as  he  wishes  to  explain  to  you  more  distinctly 
than  she  can  do  how  her  affairs  stand,  and  consult 
you  on  some  matters  which  she  cannot  altogether  so 
well  explain.  The  Duke  will  call  at  the  Thistle  to- 
morrow or  next  day  for  that  purpose.” 

“His  Grace  is  very  condescending,”  said  Mrs. 
Glass,  her  zeal  for  enquiry  slaked  for  the  present  by 
the  dexterous  administration  of  this  sugar-plum  — 
“ his  Grace  is  sensible  that  I am  in  a manner  account- 
able for  the  conduct  of  my  young  kinswoman,  and 
no  doubt  his  Grace  is  the  best  judge  how  far  he 
should  entrust  her  or  me  with  the  management  of 
her  affairs.” 

“ His  Grace  is  quite  sensible  of  that,”  answered 
Archibald,  with  national  gravity,  “ and  will  certainly 
trust  what  he  has  to  say  to  the  most  discreet  of  the 
two ; and  therefore  Mrs.  Glass,  his  Grace  relies  you 
will  speak  nothing  to  Mrs.  Jean  Deans,  either  of  her 
own  affairs  or  her  sister’s,  until  he  sees  you  him- 


THE  HEART  OE  MID-LOTHIAN. 


209 


self.  He  desired  me  to  assure  you,  in  the  mean- 
while, that  all  was  going  on  as  well  as  your  kind- 
ness could  wish,  Mrs.  Glass.” 

“ His  Grace  is  very  kind  — very  considerate,  cer- 
tainly, Mr.  Archibald — his  Grace’s  commands  shall 

be  obeyed,  and But  you  have  had  a far  drive, 

Mr.  Archibald,  as  I guess  by  the  time  of  your  ab- 
sence, and  I guess  ” (with  an  engaging  smile)  “ you 
winna  be  the  waur  o’  a glass  of  the  right  Rosa 
Solis.” 

“ I thank  you,  Mrs.  Glass,”  said  the  great  man’s 
great  man,  “ but  I am  under  the  necessity  of  return- 
ing to  my  Lord  directly.”  And  making  his  adieus 
civilly  to  both  cousins,  he  left  the  shop  of  the  Lady 
of  the  Thistle. 

“ I am  glad  your  affairs  have  prospered  so  well, 
Jeanie,  my  love,”  said  Mrs.  Glass ; “ though,  indeed, 
there  was  little  fear  of  them  so  soon  as  the  Duke  of 
Argyle  was  so  condescending  as  to  take  them  into 
hand.  I will  ask  you  no  questions  about  them,  be- 
cause his  Grace,  who  is  most  considerate  and  pru- 
dent in  such  matters,  intends  to  tell  me  all  that  you 
ken  yourself,  dear,  and  doubtless  a great  deal  more , 
so  that  any  thing  that  may  lie  heavily  on  your  mind 
may  be  imparted  to  me  in  the  meantime,  as  you  see 
it  is  his  Grace’s  pleasure  that  I should  be  made 
acquainted  with  the  whole  matter  forthwith,  and 
whether  you  or  he  tells  it,  will  make  no  difference 
in  the  world,  ye  ken.  If  I ken  what  he  is  going  to 
say  beforehand,  I will  be  much  more  ready  to  give 
my  advice,  and  whether  you  or  he  tell  me  about  it, 
cannot  much  signify  after  all,  my  dear.  So  you  may 
just  say  whatever  you  like,  only  mind  I ask  you  no 
questions  about  it.” 

Jeanie  was  a little  embarrassed.  She  thought 


TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 


2td 

that  the  communication  she  had  to  make  was  per- 
haps the  only  means  she  might  have  in  her  power 
to  gratify  her  friendly  and  hospitable  kinswoman. 
But  her  prudence  instantly  suggested  that  her 
secret  interview  with  Queen  Caroline,  which  seemed 
to  pass  under  a certain  sort  of  mystery,  was  not  a 
proper  subject  for  the  gossip  of  a woman  like  Mrs, 
Glass,  of  whose  heart  she  had  a much  better  opinion 
than  of  her  prudence.  She,  therefore,  answered  in 
general,  that  the  Duke  had  had  the  extraordinary 
kindness  to  make  very  particular  enquiries  into  her 
sister’s  bad  affair,  and  that  he  thought  he  had  found 
the  means  of  putting  it  a’  straight  again,  but  that 
he  proposed  to  tell  all  that  he  thought  about  the 
matter  to  Mrs.  Glass  herself. 

This  did  not  quite  satisfy  the  penetrating  Mis- 
tress of  the  Thistle.  Searching  as  her  own  small 
rappee,  she,  in  spite  of  her  promise,  urged  Jeanie 
with  still  further  questions.  “ Had  she  been  a’  that 
time  at  Argyle-house  ? Was  the  Duke  with  her 
the  whole  time  ? and  had  she  seen  the  Duchess  ? 
and  had  she  seen  the  young  ladies  — and  specially 
Lady  Caroline  Campbell  ? ” — To  these  questions 
Jeanie  gave  the  general  reply,  that  she  knew  so  little 
of  the  town  that  she  could  not  tell  exactly  where 
she  had  been ; that  she  had  not  seen  the  Duchess 
bo  her  knowledge  ; that  she  had  seen  two  ladies,  one 
of  whom,  she  understood,  bore  the  name  of  Caroline  ; 
and  more,  she  said,  she  could  not  tell  about  the 
matter. 

“ It  would  be  the  Duke’s  eldest  daughter,  Lady 
Caroline  Campbell  — there  is  no  doubt  of  that,”  said 
Mrs.  Glass ; “ but,  doubtless,  I shall  know  more  par- 
ticularly through  his  Grace.  — And  so,  as  the  cloth 
is  laid  in  the  little  parlour  above  stairs,  and  it  is 


THE  HEART  OE  MID-LOTHIAN. 


211 


past  three  o'clock,  for  I have  been  waiting  this  hour 
for  you,  and  I have  had  a snack  myself ; and,  as 
they  used  to  say  in  Scotland  in  my  time  — I do  not 
ken  if  the  word  be  used  now  — there  is  ill  talking 
between  a full  body  and  a fasting.” 


CHAPTEE  XY. 


Heaven  first  sent  letters  to  some  wretch’s  aid  — 

Some  banish’d  lover,  or  some  captive  maid. 

Pope. 

By  dint  of  unwonted  labour  with  the  pen,  Jeanie 
Deans  contrived  to  indite,  and  give  to  the  charge 
of  the  postman  on  the  ensuing  day,  no  less  than 
three  letters,  an  exertion  altogether  strange  to  her 
habits ; insomuch  so,  that,  if  milk  had  been  plenty, 
she  would  rather  have  made  thrice  as  many  Dunlop 
cheeses.  The  first  of  them  was  very  brief.  It  was 
addressed  to  George  Staunton,  Esq.,  at  the  Bectory, 
Willingham,  by  Grantham ; the  address  being  part 
of  the  information  which  she  had  extracted  from 
the  communicative  peasant  who  rode  before  her  to 
Stamford.  It  was  in  these  words  : — 

“ Sir,  — To  prevent  farder  mischieves,  whereof 
there  hath  been  enough,  comes  these:  Sir,  I have 
sister’s  pardon  from  the  Queen’s  Majesty,  whereof  I do 
not  doubt  you  will  be  glad,  having  had  to  say  naut  of 
matters  whereof  you  know  the  purport.  So,  sir,  I pray 
for  your  better  welfare  in  bodie  and  soul,  and  that  it 
will  please  the  fisycian  to  visit  you  in  His  good  time. 
Alwaies,  sir,  I pray  you  will  never  come  again  to  see 
my  sister,  whereof  there  has  been  too  much.  And  so, 
wishing  you  no  evil,  but  even  your  best  good,  that  you 
may  be  turned  from  your  iniquity,  (for  why  suld  ye 
die  ? ) I rest  your  humble  servant  to  command, 

“Ye  ken  wha.” 


THE  HEART  OE  MID-LOTHIAN. 


213 


The  next  letter  was  to  her  father.  It  is  too  long 
altogether  for  insertion,  so  we  only  give  a few 
extracts.  It  commenced  — 

“ Dearest  and  truly  honoured  Father, — This 
comes  with  my  duty  to  inform  you,  that  it  has  pleased 
God  to  redeem  that  captivitie  of  my  poor  sister,  in 
respect  the  Queen’s  blessed  Majesty,  for  whom  we  are 
ever  bound  to  pray,  hath  redeemed  her  soul  from  the 
slayer,  granting  the  ransom  of  her,  whilk  is  ane  pardon 
or  reprieve.  And  I spoke  with  the  Queen  face  to  face, 
and  yet  live;  for  she  is  not  muckle  differing  from  other 
grand  leddies,  saving  that  she  has  a stately  presence, 
and  een  like  a blue  huntin’  hawk’s,  whilk  gaed  throu’ 
and  throu’  me  like  a Hieland  durk  — And  all  this  good 
was,  alway  under  the  Great  Giver,  to  whom  all  are  but 
instruments,  wrought  forth  for  us  by  the  Duk  of  Argile, 
wha  is  ane  native  true-hearted  Scotsman,  and  not  pride- 
fu’,  like  other  folk  we  ken  of  — and  likewise  skeely 
enow  in  bestial,  whereof  he  has  promised  to  gie  me  twa 
Devonshire  kye,  of  which  he  is  enamoured,  although  I 
do  still  haud  by  the  real  hawkit  Airshire  breed  — and 
I have  promised  him  a cheese ; and  I wad  wuss  ye,  if 
Gowans,  the  brockit  cow,  has  a quey,  that  she  suld 
suck  her  fill  of  milk,  as  I am  given  to  understand  he 
has  none  of  that  breed,  and  is  not  scornfu’,  but  will 
take  a thing  frae  a puir  body,  that  it  may  lighten  their 
heart  of  the  loading  of  debt  that  they  awe  him.  Also 
his  Honour  the  Duke  will  accept  ane  of  our  Dunlop 
cheeses,  and  it  sail  be  my  faut  if  a better  was  ever 
yearned  in  Lowden.”  — [Here  follow  some  observa- 
tions respecting  the  breed  of  cattle,  and  the  produce  of 
the  dairy,  which  it  is  our  intention  to  forward  to  the 
Board  of  Agriculture.]  — “ Nevertheless,  these  are  but 
matters  of  the  after-harvest,  in  respect  of  the  great  good 
which  Providence  hath  gifted  us  with  — and,  in  especial, 
poor  Effie’s  life.  And  0,  my  dear  father,  since  it  hath 
pleased  God  to  be  merciful  to  her,  let  her  not  want  you* 


214 


TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 


free  pardon,  whilk  will  make  her  meet  to  he  ane  vessel 
of  grace,  and  also  a comfort  to  your  ain  graie  hairs,  j 
Dear  father,  will  ye  let  the  Laird  ken  that  we  have  had 
friends  strangely  raised  up  to  us,  and  that  the  talent 
whilk  he  lent  me  will  be  thankfully  repaid.  I hae  some 
*of  it  to  the  fore ; and  the  rest  of  it  is  not  knotted  up  in  j 
ane  purse  or  napkin,  but  in  ane  wee  bit  paper,  as  is  j 
the  fashion  heir,  whilk  I am  assured  is  gude  for  the 
siller.  And,  dear  father,  through  Mr.  Butler’s  means  j 
I hae  gude  friendship  with  the  Duke,  for  their  had  been 
kindness  between  their  forbears  in  the  auld  troublesome 
time  bye-past.  And  Mrs.  Glass  has  been  kind  like  my 
very  mother.  She  has  a braw  house  here,  and  lives  bien 
and  warm,  wi’  twa  servant  lasses,  and  a man  and  a cal- 
lant  in  the  shop.  And  she  is  to  send  you  doun  a pound 
of  her  hie-dried,  and  some  other  tobaka,  and  we  maun 
think  of  some  propine  for  her,  since  her  kindness  hath 
been  great.  And  the  Duk  is  to  send  the  pardun  doun 
by  an  express  messenger,  in  respect  that  I canna  travel 
sae  fast;  and  I am  to  come  doun  wi’  twa  of  his  Honour’s 
servants  — that  is,  John  Archibald,  a decent  elderly 
gentleman,  that  says  he  has  seen  you  lang  syne,  when 
ye  were  buying  beasts  in  the  west  frae  the  Laird  of' 
Aughtermuggitie — -but  maybe  ye  winna  mind  him  — 
ony  way,  he’s  a civil  man  — and  Mrs.  Dolly  Dutton, 
that  is  to  be  dairy-maid  at  Xnverara;  and  they  bring 
me  on  as  far  as  Glasgo’,  whilk  will  make  it  nae  pinch 
to  win  hame,  whilk  I desire  of  all  things.  May  the- 
Giver  of  all  good  things  keep  ye  in  your  outgauns 
and  incomings,  whereof  devoutly  prayeth  your  loving1 
dauter,  "Jean  Deans.”  .j 

The  third  letter  was  to  Butler,  and  its  tenor  as 
follows : — 

“ Master  Butler.  j 

“ Sir, — It  will  be  pleasure  to  you  to  ken,  that  all  I 
came  for  is,  thanks  be  to  God,  weel  dune  and  to  the 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN. 


215 

glide  end,  and  that  your  forbear’s  letter  was  right  wel- 
come to  the  Duke  of  Argile,  and  that  he  wrote  your 
name  down  with  a kylevine  pen  in  a leathern  book, 
whereby  it  seems  like  he  will  do  for  you  either  wi’  a 
scule  or  a kirk;  he  has  enow  of  baith,  as  I am  assured. 
And  I have  seen  the  Queen,  which  gave  me  a hussy-case 
out  of  her  own  hand.  She  had  not  her  crown  and  skep- 
tre,  but  they  are  laid  by  for  her,  like  the  bairns’  best 
claise,  to  be  worn  when  she  needs  them.  And  they  are 
keepit  in  a tour,  whilk  is  not  like  the  tour  of  Libber- 
ton,  nor  yet  Craigmillar,  but  mair  like  to  the  castell  of 
Edinburgh,  if  the  buildings  were  taen  and  set  down  in 
the  midst  of  the  Nor ’-Loch.  Also  the  Queen  was  very 
bounteous,  giving  me  a paper  worth  fiftie  pounds,  as  I 
am  assured,  to  pay  my  expenses  here  and  back  agen. 
Sae,  Master  Butler,  as  we  were  aye  neebours’  bairns, 
forby  ony  thing  else  that  may  hae  been  spoken  between 
us,  I trust  you  winna  skrimp  yoursell  for  what  is  needfu’ 
for  your  health,  since  it  signifies  not  muckle  whilk  o’  us 
has  the  siller,  if  the  other  wants  it.  And  mind  this  is 
no  meant  to  haud  ye  to  ony  thing  whilk  ye  wad  rather 
forget,  if  ye  suld  get  a charge  of  a kirk  or  a scule,  as 
above  said.  Only  I hope  it  will  be  a scule,  and  not  a 
kirk,  because  of  these  difficulties  anent  aiths  and 
patronages,  whilk  might  gang  ill  doun  wi’  my  honest 
father.  Only  if  ye  could  compass  a harmonious  call 
frae  the  parish  of  Skreegh-me-dead,  as  ye  anes  had 
hope  of,  I trow  it  wad  please  him  weel;  since  I hae 
heard  him  say,  that  the  root  of  the  matter  was  mair 
deeply  hafted  in  that  wild  muirland  parish  than  in  the 
Canongate  of  Edinburgh.  I wish  I had  whaten  books 
ye  wanted,  Mr.  Butler,  for  they  hae  haill  houses  of  them 
here,  and  they  are  obliged  to  set  sum  out  in  the  street, 
whilk  are  said  cheap,  doubtless,  to  get  them  out  of  the 
weather.  It  is  a muckle  place,  and  I hae  seen  sae 
muckle  of  it,  that  my  poor  head  turns  round.  And  ye 
ken  langsyne  I am  nae  great  pen-woman  — and  it  is 
near  eleven  o’clock  o’  the  night.  I am  cumming  down 


216  tales  oe  my  landlord. 

in  good  company,  and  safe  — and  I had  troubles  in 
gaun  up,  whilk  makes  me  blither  of  travelling  wi? 
kend  folk.  My  cousin,  Mrs.  Glass,  has  a braw  house 
here,  but  a’  thing  is  sae  poisoned  wi?  snuff,  that  I am 
like  to  be  scomfished  whiles.  But  what  signifies  these 
things,  in  comparison  of  the  great  deliverance  whilk 
has  been  vouchsafed  to  my  father’s  house,  in  whilk 
you,  as  our  auld  and  dear  well-wisher,  will,  I dout  not, 
rejoice  and  be  exceedingly  glad.  And  I am,  dear  Mr. 
Butler,  your  sincere  well-wisher  in  temporal  and  eternal 


After  these  labours  of  an  unwonted  kind,  Jeanie 
retired  to  her  bed,  yet  scarce  could  sleep  a few 
minutes  together,  so  often  was  she  awakened  by  the 
heart-stirring  consciousness  of  her  sister’s  safety,  and 
so  powerfully  urged  to  deposit  her  burden  of  joy,; 
where  she  had  before  laid  her  doubts  and  sorrows, 
in  the  warm  and  sincere  exercises  of  devotion.  ! 

All  the  next,  and  all  the  succeeding  day,  Mrs. 
Glass  fidgeted  about  her  shop  in  the  agony  of  ex-* 
pectation,  like  a pea  (to  use  a vulgar  simile  which 
her  profession  renders  appropriate)  upon  one  of  her 
own  tobacco-pipes.  With  the  third  morning  came 
the  expected  coach,  with  four  servants  clustered; 
behind  on  the  foot-board,  in  dark-brown  and  yellow 
liveries ; the  Duke  in  person,  with  laced  coat,  gold-j 
headed  cane,  star  and  garter,  all,  as  the  story-book 
says,  very  grand.  ' 

He  enquired  for  his  little  countrywoman  of  Mrs.- 
Glass,  but  without  requesting  to  see  her,  probably 
because  he  was  unwilling  to  give  an  appearance  oi 
personal  intercourse  betwixt  them,  which  scandal 
might  have  misinterpreted.  “ The  Queen,  ” he  said 
to  Mrs.  Glass,  “ had  taken  the  case  of  her  kins- 


THE  HEART  OE  MID-LOTHIAN.  217 

woman  into  her  gracious  consideration,  and  being 
specially  moved  by  the  affectionate  and  resolute 
character  of  the  elder  sister,  had  condescended  to 
use  her  powerful  intercession  with  his  Majesty,  in 
consequence  of  which  a pardon  had  been  dispatched 
to  Scotland  to  Effie  Deans,  on  condition  of  her  ban- 
ishing herself  forth  of  Scotland  for  fourteen  years. 
The  King's  Advocate  had  insisted,  ” he  said,  “ upon 
this  qualification  of  the  pardon,  having  pointed 
out  to  his  Majesty’s  ministers,  that,  within  the 
course  of  only  seven  years,  twenty-one  instances  of 
child-murder  had  occurred  in  Scotland.  ” 

“ Weary  on  him ! ” said  Mrs.  Glass,  “ what  for 
needed  he  to  have  telled  that  of  his  ain  country, 
and  to  the  English  folk  abune  a'  ? I used  aye  to 
think  the  Advocate  a douce  decent  man,  but  it  is 
an  ill  bird  — begging  your  Grace's  pardon  for 
speaking  of  such  a coorse  by-word.  And  then 
what  is  the  poor  lassie  to  do  in  a foreign  land  ? — • 
Why,  wae’s  me,  it’s  just  sending  her  to  play  the 
same  pranks  ower  again,  out  of  sight  or  guidance 
of  her  friends. " 

“ Pooh ! pooh ! ” said  the  Duke,  “ that  need  not 
be  anticipated.  Why,  she  may  come  up  to  London, 
or  she  may  go  over  to  America,  and  marry  well  for 
all  that  is  come  and  gone.  ” 

“ In  troth,  and  so  she  may,  as  your  Grace  is 
pleased  to  intimate,  ” replied  Mrs.  Glass ; “ and 
now  I think  upon  it,  there  is  my  old  correspondent 
in  Virginia,  Ephraim  Buckskin,  that  has  supplied 
the  Thistle  this  forty  years  with  tobacco,  and  it  is 
not  a little  that  serves  our  turn,  and  he  has  been 
writing  to  me  this  ten  years  to  send  him  out  a 
wife.  The  carle  is  not  above  sixty,  and  hale  and 
hearty,  and  well  to  pass  in  the  world,  and  a line 


2l8 


TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD, 


from  my  hand  would  settle  the  matter,  and  Effie 
Deans 's  misfortune  (forby  that  there  is  no  special 
occasion  to  speak  about  it)  would  be  thought  little 
of  there.  ” 

“ Is  she  a pretty  girl  ? ” said  the  Duke ; “ her 
sister  does  not  get  beyond  a good  comely  sonsy 
lass,  ” 

“ Oh,  far  prettier  is  Effie  than  Jeanie,  ” said 
Mrs.  Glass ; “ though  it  is  long  since  I saw  her 
mysell,  but  I hear  of  the  Deanses  by  all  my  Low- 
den  friends  when  they  come  — your  Grace  kens  we 
Scots  are  clannish  bodies.  ” 

“ So  much  the  better  for  us,  ” said  the  Duke, 

“ and  the  worse  for  those  who  meddle  with  us,  as 
your  good  old-fashioned  Scots  sign  says,  Mrs. 
Glass.  And  now  I hope  you  will  approve  of  the 
measures  I have  taken  for  restoring  your  kins- 
woman to  her  friends.  ” These  he  detailed  at 
length,  and  Mrs.  Glass  gave  her  unqualified  appro-: 
bation,  with  a smile  and  a curtsey  at  every  sentence. 

“ And  now,  Mrs.  Glass,  you  must  tell  Jeanie,  L 
hope  she  will  not  forget  my  cheese  when  she  gets 
down  to  Scotland.  Archibald  has  my  orders  to 
arrange  all  her  expenses.  ” 

“ Begging  your  Grace’s  humble  pardon,  said 
Mrs.  Glass,  “ it’s  a pity  to  trouble  yourself  about 
them ; the  Deanses  are  wealthy  people  in  their 
way,  and  the  lass  has  money  in  her  pocket.  ” ' 

“ That’s  all  very  true,  ” said  the  Duke ; “ but 
you  know,  where  MacCallummore  travels  he  pays* 
all ; it  is  our  Highland  privilege  to  take  from  all 
what  we  want,  and  to  give  to  all  what  they  want.  ” 
“Your  Grace’s  better  at  giving  than  taking,”, 
said  Mrs.  Glass. 

“ To  show  you  the  contrary,  * said  the  Duke,  “ 1 


THE  HEART  OE  MID-LOTHIAN.  219 

will  fill  my  box  out  of  this  canister  without  pay- 
ing you  a bawbee ; ” and  again  desiring  to  be  re- 
membered to  Jeanie,  with  1 1 is  good  wishes  for  her 
safe  journey,  he  departed,  leaving  Mrs.  Glass  up- 
lifted in  heart  and  in  countenance,  the  proudest 
and  happiest  of  tobacco  and  snuff  dealers. 

Reflectively,  his  Grace’s  good-humour  and  affa- 
bility had  a favourable  effect  upon  Jeanie ’s  situa- 
tion. Her  kinswoman,  though  civil  and  kind  to 
her,  had  acquired  too  much  of  London  breeding  to 
be  perfectly  satisfied  with  her  cousin’s  rustic  and 
national  dress,  and  was,  besides,  something  scan- 
dalized at  the  cause  of  her  journey  to  London. 
Mrs.  Glass  might,  therefore,  have  been  less  sedu- 
lous in  her  attentions  towards  Jeanie,  but  for  the 
interest  which  the  foremost  of  the  Scottish  nobles 
(for  such,  in  all  men’s  estimation,  was  the  Duke 
of  Argyle)  seemed  to  take  in  her  fate.  Now, 
however,  as  a kinswoman  whose  virtues  and  do- 
mestic affections  had  attracted  the  notice  and 
approbation  of  royalty  itself,  Jeanie  stood  to  her 
relative  in  a light  very  different  and  much  more 
favourable,  and  was  not  only  treated  with  kind- 
aess,  but  with  actual  observance  and  respect. 

It  depended  upon  herself  alone  to  have  made  as 
many  visits,  and  seen  as  many  sights,  as  lay  within 
Mrs.  Glass’s  power  to  compass.  But,  excepting 
Rat  phe  dined  abroad  with  one  or  two  “ far-away 
linstolk,  and  that  she  paid  the  same  respect,  on 
VIrs.  Glass’s  strong  urgency,  to  Mrs.  Deputy 
Dabby,  wife  of  the  Worshipful  Mr.  Deputy  Dabby, 

•f  I arringdon  Wbthout,  she  did  not  avail  herself 
>f  the  opportunity.  As  Mrs.  Dabby  was  the  sec- 
ond lady  of  great  rank  whom  Jeanie  had  seen  in 
jondon,  she  used  sometimes  afterwards  to  draw 


2 20  TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 

a parallel  betwixt  her  and  the  Queen,  in  winch 
she  observed,  that  “ Mrs.  Dabby  was  dressed  twice 
as  grand,  and  was  twice  as  big,  and  spoke  twice  as 
loud,  and  twice  as  muckle,  as  the  Queen  did,  but 
she  hadna  the  same  goss-hawk  glance  that  makes 
the  skin  creep,  and  the  knse  bend;  and  though 
she  had  very  kindly  gifted  her  with  a loaf  of  sugar 
and  twa  punds  of  tea,  yet  ahe  hadna  a thegether 
the  sweet  look  that  the  Queen  had  when  she  put 
the  needle-book  into  her  hand. 

Jeanie  might  have  enjoyed  the  sights  and  nov- 
elties of  this  great  city  more,  had  it  not  been  for 
the  qualification  added  to  her  sister  s pardon,  whic 
greatly  grieved  her  affectionate  disposition.  On 
this  subject,  however,  her  mind  was  somewhat 
relieved  by  a letter  which  she  received  m return  oil 
post,  in  answer  to  that  which  she  had  written  U 
her  father  With  his  affectionate  blessing,  r 
brought  his  full  approbation  of  the  step  which  sht 
had  taken,  as  one  inspired  by  the  immediate  die 
tates  of  Heaven,  and  which  she  had  been  thrus 
upon  in  order  that  she  might  become  the  means  o 
safety  to  a perishing  household. 

“ If  ever  a deliverance  was  dear  and  precious 
this,”  said  the  letter,  “ is  a dear  and  precious  de 
liverance  — and  if  life  saved  can  be  made  mar 
sweet  and  savoury,  it  is  when  it  cometh  by  tb 
hands  of  those  whom  we  hold  in  the  ties  o,  after 
tion.  And  do  not  let  your  heart  be  disqmetfc 
within  you,  that  this  victim,  who  is  rescued  froi 
the  horns  of  the  altar,  where  until  she  was  fa* 
bound  by  the  chains  of  human  law,  is  now  to  t 
driven  beyond  the  bounds  of  our  land.  Scotian 
is  a blessed  land  to  those  who  love  the  ordmaned 
of  Christianity,  and  it  is  a faer  land  to  look  upoi 


THE  HEART  OE  MID-LOTI  1 1 AJS. 


22k 


and  dear  to  them  who  have  dwelt  in  it  a'  their 
days;  and  weel  said  that  judicious  Christian, 
worthy  John  Livingstone,  a sailor  in  Borrowstoun- 
uess,  as  the  famous  Patrick  Walker  reporteth  his 
[ words,  that  howbeit  he  thought  Scotland  was  a 
Gehennah  of  wickedness  when  he  was  at  home, 
t yet,  when  he  was  abroad,  he  accounted  it  ane  para- 
dise ; for  the  evils  of  Scotland  he  found  every  - 
: where,  and  the  good  of  Scotland  he  found  nowhere. 
But  we  are  to  hold  in  remembrance  that  Scotland, 
though  it  be  our  native  land,  and  the  land  of  our 
fathers,  is  not  like  Goshen,  in  Egypt,  on  whilk 
the  sun  of  the  heavens  and  of  the  gospel  shineth 
allenarly,  and  leaveth  the  rest  of  the  world  in 
utter  darkness.  Therefore,  and  also  because  this 
increase  of  profit  at  Saint  Leonard’s  Crags  may  be 
a cauld  waff  of  wind  blawing  from  the  frozen  land 
of  earthly  self,  where  never  plant  of  grace  took 
root  or  grew,  and  because  my  concerns  make  me 
take  something  ower  muckle  a grip  of  the  gear  of 
the  warld  in  mine  arms,  I receive  this  dispensation 
anent  Effie  as  a call  to  depart  out  of  Haran,  as 
righteous  Abraham  of  old,  and  leave  my  father’s 
kindred  and  my  mother’s  house,  and  the  ashes  and 
mould  of  them  who  have  gone  to  sleep  before  me, 
and  which  wait  to  be  mingled  with  these  auld 
crazed  bones  of  mine  own.  And  my  heart  is 
lightened  to  do  this,  when  I call  to  mind  the  de- 
cay of  active  and  earnest  religion  in  this  land,  and 
survey  the  height  and  the  depth,  the  length  and 
the  breadth,  of  national  defections,  and  how  the 
love  of  many  is  waxing  lukewarm  and  cold ; and  I 
am  strengthened  in  this  resolution  to  change  my 
domicile  likewise,  as  I hear  that  store-farms  are  to 
be  set  at  an  easy  mail  in  Northumberland,  where 


222 


TALES  OE  MY  LANDLORD. 


there  are  many  precious  souls  that  are  of  our  true, 
though  suffering  persuasion.  And  sic  part  of  the 
kye  or  stock  as  I judge  it  fit  to  keep,  may  he 
driven  thither  without  incommodity  — say  about 
Wooler,  or  that  gate,  keeping  aye  a shouther  to 
the  hills  — and  the  rest  may  be  sauld  to  gude  profit 
and  advantage,  if  we  had  grace  weel  to  use  and 
guide  these  gifts  of  the  warld.  The  Laird  has 
been  a true  friend  on  our  unhappy  occasions,  and  I 
have  paid  him  back  the  siller  for  Efhe’s  misfor- 
tune, whereof  Mr.  Nichil  Novit  returned  him  no 
balance,  as  the  Laird  and  I did  expect  he  wad  hae 
done.  But  law  licks  up  a’,  as  the  common  folk 
say.  I have  had  the  siller  to  borrow  out  of  sax 
purses.  Mr.  Saddletree  advised  to  give  the  Laird 
of  Lounsbeck  a charge  on  his  band  for  a thousand 
inerks.  But  I hae  nae  broo’  of  charges,  since  that 
awfu’  morning  that  a tout  of  a horn,  at  the  Crossi 
of  Edinburgh,  blew  half  the  faithfu’  ministers  ef 
Scotland  out  of  their  pulpits.  However,  I sail 
raise  an  adjudication,  whilk  Mr.  Saddletree  says; 
comes  instead  of  the  auld  apprisings,  and  will  not 
lose  weel-won  gear  with  the  like  of  him  if  it  may 
be  helped.  As  for  the  Queen,  and  the  credit  that 
she  hath  done  to  a poor  man’s  daughter,  and  the 
mercy  and  the  grace  ye  found  with  her,  I can  only 
pray  for  her  weel-being  here  and  hereafter,  for  the, 
establishment  of  her  house  now  and  for  ever,  upon 
the  throne  of  these  kingdoms.  I doubt  not  but 
what  you  told  her  Majesty,  that  I was  the  same 
David  Deans  of  whom  there  was  a sport  at  the 
Revolution  when  I noited  thegither  the  heads  of 
twa  false  prophets,  these  ungracious  Graces  the 
prelates,  as  they  stood  on  the  Hie  Street,  after 
being  expelled  from  the  Convention -parliament. 


THE  HEART  OE  MID-LOTH  IAN. 


223 


The  Duke  of  Argyle  is  a noble  and  true-hearted 
nobleman,  who  pleads  the  cause  of  the  poor,  and 
those  who  have  none  to  help  them;  verily  his  re- 
ward shall  not  be  lacking  unto  him.  — I have  been 
writing  of  many  things,  but  not  of  that  whilk  lies 
nearest  mine  heart.  I have  seen  the  misguided 
thing ; she  will  be  at  freedom  the  morn,  on  en- 
acted caution  that  she  shall  leave  Scotland  in  four 
weeks.  Her  mind  is  in  an  evil  frame,  — casting 
her  eye  backward  on  Egypt,  I doubt,  as  if  the 
bitter  waters  of  the  wilderness  were  harder  to  en- 
dure than  the  brick  furnaces,  by  the  side  of  which 
there  were  savoury  flesh-pots.  I need  not  bid  you 
make  haste  down,  for  you  are,  excepting  always  my 
Great  Master,  my  only  comfort  in  these  straits.  I 
charge  you  to  withdraw  your  feet  from  the  delusion 
of  that  Vanity-fair  in  whilk  ye  are  a sojourner,  and 
not  to  go  to  their  worship,  whilk  is  an  ill-mumbled 
mass,  as  it  was  weel  termed  by  James  the  Sext, 
though  he  afterwards,  with  his  unhappy  son,  strove 
to  bring  it  ower  back  and  belly  into  his  native 
kingdom,  wherethrough  their  race  have  been  cut  off 
as  foam  upon  the  water,  and  shall  be  as  wanderers 
among  the  nations  — see  the  prophecies  of  Hosea, 
ninth  and  seventeenth,  and  the  same,  tenth  and 
seventh.  But  us  and  our  house,  let  us  say  with 
the  same  prophet : ‘ Let  us  return  to  the  Lord,  for 
he  hath  torn,  and  he  will  heal  us  — He  hath  smit- 
ten, and  he  will  bind  us  up.  ’ ” 

He  proceeded  to  say,  that  he  approved  of  her 
proposed  mode  of  returning  by  Glasgow,  and  en- 
tered into  sundry  minute  particulars  not  necessary 
to  be  quoted.  A single  line  in  the  letter,  but  not 
the  least  frequently  read  by  the  party  to  whom  it 
was  addressed,  intimated,  that  “ Reuben  Butler 


224 


TALES  OE  MY  LANDLORD. 


had  been  as  a son  to  him  in  his  sorrows.  ” As  David 
Deans  scarce  ever  mentioned  Butler  before,  with- 
out some  gibe,  more  or  less  direct,  either  at  his 
carnal  gifts  and  learning,  or  at  his  grandfather’s 
heresy,  Jeanie  drew  a good  omen  from  no  such 
qualifying  clause  being  added  to  this  sentence 
respecting  him. 

A lover’s  hope  resembles  the  bean  in  the  nursery 
tale,  — let  it  once  take  root,  and  it  will  grow  so 
rapidly,  that  in  the  course  of  a few  hours  the  giant 
Imagination  builds  a castle  on  the  top,  and  by  and 
by  comes  Disappointment  with  the  “ curtal  axe,  ” 
and  hews  down  both  the  plant  and  the  superstruct- 
ure. Jeanie ’s  fancy,  though  not  the  most  powerful 
of  her  faculties,  was  lively  enough  to  transport  her 
to  a wild  farm  in  Northumberland,  well  stocked 
with  milk-cows,  yeald  beasts,  and  sheep ; a meet- 
ing-house hard  by,  frequented  by  serious  presby-  ; 
terians,  who  had  united  in  a harmonious  call  to 
Reuben  Butler  to  be  their  spiritual  guide  ; — Effie 
restored,  not  to  gaiety,  but  to  cheerfulness  at  least ; ; 
— their  father,  with  his  grey  hairs  smoothed  down, 
and  spectacles  on  his  nose ; — herself,  with  the 
maiden  snood  exchanged  for  a matron’s  curch  — 
all  arranged  in  a pew  in  the  said  meeting-house,  ' 
listening  to  words  of  devotion,  rendered  sweeter  ;| 
and  more  powerful  by  the  affectionate  ties  which  I 
combined  them  with  the  preacher.  She  cherished 
such  visions  from  day  to  day,  until  her  residence  j 
in  London  began  to  become  insupportable  and 
tedious  to  her;  and  it  was  with  no  ordinary  satis- 
faction that  she  received  a summons  from  Argyle- 
house,  requiring  her  in  two  days  to  be  prepared  to 
join  their  northward  party. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 


One  was  a female,  who  had  grievous  ill 
Wrought  in  revenge,  and  she  enjoy’d  it  still; 

Sullen  she  was,  and  threatening;  in  her  eye 
Glared  the  stern  triumph  that  she  dared  to  die. 

Crabbe. 

< The  summons  of  preparation  arrived  after  Jeanie 
Deans  had  resided  in  the  metropolis  about  three 
weeks. 

On  the  morning  appointed  she  took  a grateful 
farewell  of  Mrs.  Glass,  as  that  good  woman’s  at- 
tention to  her  particularly  required,  placed  herself 
and  her  movable  goods,  which  purchases  and  pres- 
ents had  greatly  increased,  in  a hackney-coach, 
and  joined  her  travelling  companions  in  the  house- 
keeper’s apartment  at  Argyle-house.  While  the 
carriage  was  getting  ready, “she  was  informed  that 
the  Duke  wished  to  speak  with  her ; and  being 
ushered  into  a splendid  saloon,  she  was  surprised 
to  find  that  he  wished  to  present  her  to  his  lady 
and  daughters. 

“ I bring  you  my  little  countrywoman.  Duchess,  ” 
these  were  the  words  of  the  introduction.  “ With 
(an  army  of  young  fellows,  as  gallant  and  steady  as 
she  is,  and  a good  cause,  I would  not  fear  two  to 
one.  ” 

“ Ah,  papa ! ” said  a lively  young  lady,  about 
twelve  years  old,  “ remember  you  were  full  one 
to  two  at  Sheriff-muir,  and  yet,”  (singing  the  well- 
known  ballad)  — 


226 


TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 


a c Some  say  that  we  wan,  and  some  say  that  they  wan, 

And  some  say  that  nane  wan  at  a’,  man ; 

But  of  ae  thing  I'm  sure,  that  on  Sheriff-muir 
A battle  there  was  that  I saw,  man.’  ” 

“ What,  little  Mary  turned  Tory  on  my  hands  ? 
— This  will  be  fine  news  for  our  countrywoman  to 
carry  down  to  Scotland!” 

“ We  may  all  turn  Tories  for  the  thanks  we 
have  got  for  remaining  Whigs,”  said  the  second 
young  lady. 

“ Well,  hold  your  peace,  you  discontented  mon- 
keys, and  go  dress  your  babies ; and  as  for  the  Bob 
of  Dumblane,  — 

‘ If  it  wasna  weel  hobbit,  weel  bobbit,  weel  hobbit. 

If  it  wasna  weel  bobbit,  we’ll  bobb  it  again.’  ” 

“ Papa’s  wit  is  running  low,”  said  Lady  Mary; 

“ the  poor  gentleman  is  repeating  himself  — he 
sang  that  on  the  field  of  battle,  when  he  was  told 
the  Highlanders  had  cut  his  left  wing  to  pieces  , 
with  their  claymores.  ” 

A pull  by  the  hair  was  the  repartee  to  this  sally. 

“ Ah  ! brave  Highlanders  and  bright  claymores,  ” 
said  the  Duke,  “ well  do  I wish  them,  ‘for  a’  the  j 
ill  they’ve  done  me  yet,’  as  the  song  goes.  — But 
come,  madcaps,  say  a civil  word  to  your  country-  ' 
woman  — I wish  ye  had  half  her  canny  hamely  | 
sense ; I think  you  may  be  as  leal  and  true*  ; 
hearted.  ” 

The  Duchess  advanced,  and,  in  few  words,  in 
which  there  was  as  much  kindness  as  civility, 
assured  Jeanie  of  the  respect  which  she  had  for 
a character  so  affectionate,  and  yet  so  firm,  and 
added,  “ When  you  get  home,  you  will  perhaps 
hear  from  me.  ” 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN. 


227 


" And  from  me.  ” “ And  from  me.  ” “ And  from 

me-,  Jeanie,  ” added  the  young  ladies  one  after  the 
other,  “ for  you  are  a credit  to  the  land  we  love  so 
well.  ” 

Jeanie,  overpowered  with  these  unexpected 
compliments,  and  not  aware  that  the  Duke’s  in- 
vestigation had  made  him  acquainted  with  her 
behaviour  on  her  sister’s  trial,  could  only  answer 
by  blushing,  and  curtsying  round  and  round, 
and  uttering  at  intervals,  “ Mony  thanks ! mony 
thanks ! ” 

“ Jeanie,  ” said  the  Duke,  * you  must  have  dock 
an ’ dorroch,  or  you  will  be  unable  to  travel.  ” 

There  was  a salver  with  cake  and  wine  on  the 
table.  He  took  up  a glass,  drank  “ to  all  true 
hearts  that  lo’ed  Scotland,”  and  offered  a glass  to 
his  guest. 

Jeanie,  however,  declined  it,  saying,  “ that  she 
had  never  tasted  wine  in  her  life.  ” 

“ How  comes  that,  Jeanie  ? ” said  the  Duke,  — 
“ wine  maketh  glad  the  heart,  you  know.  ” 

“ Ay,  sir,  but  my  father  is  like  Jonadab  the  son 
of  Rechab,  who  charged  his  children  that  they 
should  drink  no  wine.  ” 

“ I thought  your  father  would  have  had  more 
sense,  ” said  the  Duke,  “ unless,  indeed,  he  prefers 
brandy.  But,  however,  Jeanie,  if  you  will  not 
drink,  you  must  eat,  to  save  the  character  of  my 
house.  ” 

He  thrust  upon  her  a large  piece  of  cake,  nor 
would  he  permit  her  to  break  off  a fragment,  and 
lay  the  rest  on  the  salver.  “ Put  it  in  your  pouch, 
Jeanie,”  said  he;  “ you  will  be  glad  of  it  before 
you  see  St.  Giles’s  steeple.  I wish  to  Heaven  I 
were  to  see  it  as  soon  as  you ! and  so  my  best  sen 


228 


TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 


vice  to  all  my  friends  at  and  about  Auld  Reekie, 
and  a blithe  journey  to  you.  ” ^ 

And,  mixing  the  frankness  of  a soldier  with  his 
natural  affability,  he  shook  hands  with  his  pro- 
tegee, and  committed  her  to  the  charge  of  Archi- 
bald, satisfied  that  he  had  provided  sufficiently  for 
her  being  attended  to  by  his  domestics,  from  the 
unusual  attention  with  which  he  had  himself 
treated  her. 

Accordingly,  in  the  course  of  her  journey,  she 
found  both  her  companions  disposed  to  pay  her 
every  possible  civility,  so  that  her  return,  in  point 
of  comfort  and  safety,  formed  a strong  contrast  to 
her  journey  to  London. 

Her  heart  also  was  disburdened  of  the  weight 
of  grief,  shame,  apprehension,  and  fear,  which  had 
loaded  her  before  her  interview  with  the  Queen  at 
Richmond.  But  the  human  mind  is  so  strangely 
capricious,  that,  when  freed  from  the  pressure  of 
real  misery,  it  becomes  open  and  sensitive  to  the 
apprehension  of  ideal  calamities.  She  was  now- 
much  disturbed  in  mind,  that  she  had  heard  noth- 
ing from  Reuben  Butler,  to  whom  the  operation  of  | 
writing  was  so  much  more  familiar  than  it  was  to 
herself. 

“ It  would  have  cost  him  sae  little  fash,  ” she  said; 
to  herself ; “ for  I hae  seen  his  pen  gang  as  fast  ower 
the  paper,  as  ever  it  did  ower  the  water  when  it 
was  in  the  grey  goose’s  wing.  Wae’s  me!  maybe 
he  may  be  badly  — but  then  my  father  wad  likely 
hae  said  something  about  it  — Or  maybe  he  may 
hae  taen  the  rue,  and  kensna  how  to  let  me  wot  of 
his  change  of  mind.  He  needna  be  at  muckle  fash 
about  it,  ” — she  went  on,  drawing  herself  up, 
though  the  tear  of  honest  pride  and  injured  affec- 


THE  HEART  OE  MID-LOTHIAN. 


229 


tion  gathered  in  her  eye,  as  she  entertained  the 
suspicion, — “ Jeanie  Deans  is  no  the  lass  to  pu’ 
him  by  the  sleeve,  or  put  him  in  mind  of  what  he 
wishes  to  forget.  I shall  wish  him  weel  and 
happy  a*  the  same ; and  if  he  has  the  luck  to  get 
a kirk  in  our  country,  I sail  gang  and  hear  him 
just  the  very  same,  to  show  that  I bear  nae  mal- 
ice. ” And  as  she  imagined  the  scene,  the  tear 
stole  over  her  eye. 

In  these  melancholy  reveries,  Jeanie  had  full 
time  to  indulge  herself ; for  her  travelling  compan- 
ions, servants  in  a distinguished  and  fashionable 
family,  had,  of  course,  many  topics  of  conversa- 
tion, in  which  it  was  absolutely  impossible  she 
could  have  either  pleasure  or  portion.  She  had, 
therefore,  abundant  leisure  for  reflection,  and  even 
for  self-tormenting,  during  the  several  days  which, 
indulging  the  young  horses  the  Duke  was  sending 
down  to  the  North  with  sufficient  ease  and  short 
stages,  they  occupied  in  reaching  the  neighbour- 
hood of  Carlisle. 

In  approaching  the  vicinity  of  that  ancient  city, 
they  discerned  a considerable  crowd  upon  an  emi- 
nence at  a little  distance  from  the  high  road,  and 
learned  from  some  passengers  who  were  gather- 
ing towards  that  busy  scene  from  the  southward, 
that  the  cause  of  the  concourse  was,  the  laudable 
public  desire  “ to  see  a domned  Scotch  witch  and 
thief  get  half  of  her  due  upo’  Haribee-broo’  yon- 
der, for  she  was  only  to  be  hanged ; she  should  hae 
been  boomed  aloive,  an’  cheap  on’t” 

“ Dear  Mr.  Archibald,  ” said  the  dame  of  the 
dairy  elect,  “ I never  seed  a woman  hanged  in  a’ 
my  life,  and  only  four  men,  as  made  a goodly 
spectacle.  ” 


230 


TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 


Mr.  Archibald,  however,  was  a Scotchman,  and 
promised  himself  no  exuberant  pleasure  in  seeing 
his  countrywoman  undergo  “ the  terrible  behests 
of  law.  ” Moreover,  he  was  a man  of  sense  and 
delicacy  in  his  way,  and  the  late  circumstances  of 
Jeanie’s  family,  with  the  cause  of  her  expedition 
to  London,  were  not  unknown  to  him ; so  that  he 
answered  dryly,  it  was  impossible  to  stop,  as  he 
must  be  early  at  Carlisle  on  some  business  of  the 
Duke's,  and  he  accordingly  bid  the  postilions  get 
on. 

The  road  at  that  time  passed  at  about  a quarter 
of  a mile’s  distance  from  the  eminence,  called 
Haribee,  or  Harabee-brow,  which,  though  it  is 
very  moderate  in  size  and  height,  is  nevertheless 
seen  from  a great  distance  around,  owing  to  the  flat- 
ness of  the  country  through  which  the  Eden  flows. 
Here  many  an  outlaw,  and  border-rider  of  both 
kingdoms,  had  wavered  in  the  wind  during  the 
wars,  and  scarce  less  hostile  truces,  between  the 
two  countries.  Upon  Harabee,  in  latter  days,  other 
executions  had  taken  place  with  as  little  ceremony 
as  compassion ; for  these  frontier  provinces  re- 
mained long  unsettled,  and,  even  at  the  time  of 
which  we  write,  were  ruder  than  those  in  the 
centre  of  England. 

The  postilions  drove  on,  wheeling,  as  the  Pen- 
rith road  led  them,  round  the  verge  of  the  rising 
ground.  Yet  still  the  eyes  of  Mrs.  Dolly  Dutton, 
which,  with  the  head  and  substantial  person  to 
which  they  belonged,  were  all  turned  towards  the 
scene  of  action,  could  discern  plainly  the  outline 
of  the  gallows-tree,  relieved  against  the  clear  sky, 
the  dark  shade  formed  by  the  persons  of  the  exe- 
cutioner and  the  criminal  upon  the  light  rounds  of 


THE  HEART  OE  MID-LOTHIAN. 


231 


the  tall  aerial  ladder,  until  one  of  the  objects, 
launched  into  the  air,  gave  unequivocal  signs  of 
mortal  agony,  though  appearing  in  the  distance 
not  larger  than  a spider  dependent  at  the  extrem- 
ity of  his  invisible  thread,  while  the  remaining 
form  descended  from  its  elevated  situation,  and 
regained  with  all  speed  an  undistinguished  place 
among  the  crowd.  This  termination  of  the  tragic 
scene  drew  forth  of  course  a squall  from  Mrs. 
Dutton,  and  Jeanie,  with  instinctive  curiosity, 
turned  her  head  in  the  same  direction. 

The  sight  of  a female  culprit  in  the  act  of  under- 
going the  fatal  punishment  from  which  her  beloved 
sister  had  been  so  recently  rescued,  was  too  much, 
not  perhaps  for  her  nerves,  but  for  her  mind  and 
feelings.  She  turned  her  head  to  the  other  side  of 
the  carriage,  with  a sensation  of  sickness,  of  loath- 
ing, and  of  fainting.  Her  female  companion  over- 
whelmed her  with  questions,  with  proffers  of 
assistance,  with  requests  that  the  carriage  might 
be  stopped  — that  a doctor  might  be  fetched  — 
that  drops  might  be  gotten  — that  burnt  feathers 
and  assafoetida,  fair  water,  and  hartshorn,  might 
be  procured,  all  at  once,  and  without  one  instant’s 
delay.  Archibald,  more  calm  and  considerate, 
only  desired  the  carriage  to  push  forward;  and 
it  was  not  till  they  had  got  beyond  sight  of  the 
fatal  spectacle,  that,  seeing  the  deadly  paleness 
of  Jeanie’s  countenance,  he  stopped  the  carriage, 
and  jumping  out  himself,  went  in  search  of  the 
most  obvious  and  most  easily  procured  of  Mrs. 
Dutton’s  pharmacopoeia  — a draught,  namely,  of 
fair  water. 

While  Archibald  was  absent  on  this  good-natured 
piece  of  service,  damning  the  ditches  which  pro* 


232  TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 

duced  nothing  but  mud,  and  thinking  upon  the 
thousand  bubbling  springlets  of  his  own  moun- 
tains, the  attendants  on  the  execution  began  to 
pass  the  stationary  vehicle  in  their  way  back  to 
Carlisle. 

From  their  half-heard  and  half-understood  words, 
Jeanie,  whose  attention  was  involuntarily  riveted 
by  them,  as  that  of  children  is  by  ghost  stories, 
though  they  know  the  pain  with  which  they  will 
afterwards  remember  them,  Jeanie,  I say,  could 
discern  that  the  present  victim  of  the  law  had  died 
game,  as  it  is  termed  by  those  unfortunates ; that 
is,  sullen,  reckless,  and  impenitent,  neither  fear- 
ing God  nor  regarding  man. 

“ A sture  woife,  and  a dour,  ” said  one  Cumbrian 
peasant,  as  he  clattered  by  in  his  wooden  brogues, 
with  a noise  like  the  trampling  of  a dray-horse. 

“ She  has  gone  to  ho  master,  with  ho’s  name  in 
her  mouth,  ” said  another ; “ Shame  the  country 
should  be  harried  wi’  Scotch  witches  and  Scotch 
bitches  this  gate  — but  I say  hang  and  drown.” 

“ Ay,  ay,  Gaffer  Tramp,  take  awa  yealdon,  take 
awa  low  — hang  the  witch,  and  there  will  be  less 
scathe  amang  us ; mine  owsen  hae  been  reckan  this 
towmont.  ” 

“ And  mine  bairns  hae  been  crining  too,  mon,”  j 
replied  his  neighbour. 

“ Silence  wi’  your  fule  tongues,  ye  churls,”  said 
an  old  woman,  who  hobbled  past  them,  as  they  \ 
stood  talking  near  the  carriage ; “ this  was  nae 
witch,  but  a bluidy-fingered  thief  and  murderess.  ” 

“ Ay  ? was  it  e'en  sae,  Dame  Hinchup  ? ” said  one 
in  a civil  tone,  and  stepping  out  of  his  place  to  let 
the  old  woman  pass  along  the  foot-path  — “ Nay, 
you  know  best,  sure  — but  at  ony  rate,  we  hae  but 


THE  HEART  OE  MID-LOTHIAN. 


*33 


tint  a Scot  of  her,  and  that’s  a thing  better  lost 
than  found.  ” 

The  old  woman  passed  on  without  making  any 
answer. 

“ Ay,  ay,  neighbour,  ” said  Gaffer  Tramp,  “ seest 
thou  how  one  witch  will  speak  for  t’other  — Scots 
or  English,  the  same  to  them.  ” 

His  companion  shook  his  head,  and  replied  in 
the  same  subdued  tone,  “ Ay,  ay,  when  a Sark-foot 
wife  gets  on  her  broomstick,  the  dames  of  Allonby 
are  ready  to  mount,  just  as  sure  as  the  by-word 
gangs  0’  the  hills, 

If  Skiddaw  hath  a cap, 

Criffel  wots  full  weel  of  that.” 

“ But,  ” continued  Gaffer  Tramp,  “ thinkest  thou 
the  daughter  o’  yon  hangit  body  isna  as  rank  a 
witch  as  ho  ? ” 

“ I kenna  clearly,  ” returned  the  fellow,  “ but  the 
folk  are  speaking  o’  swimming  her  i’  the  Eden.” 
And  they  passed  on  their  several  roads,  after  wish- 
ing each  other  good  morning. 

Just  as  the  clowns  left  the  place,  and  as  Mr. 
Archibald  returned  with  some  fair  water,  a crowd 
of  boys  and  girls,  and  some  of  the  lower  rabble  of 
more  mature  age,  came  up  from  the  place  of  exe- 
cution, grouping  themselves  with  many  a yell  of 
delight  around  a tall  female  fantastically  dressed, 
who  was  dancing,  leaping,  and  bounding  in  the 
midst  of  them.  A horrible  recollection  pressed  on 
Jeanie  as  she  looked  on  this  unfortunate  creature; 
and  the  reminiscence  was  mutual,  for  by  a sudden 
exertion  of  great  strength  and  agility,  Madge 
Wildfire  broke  out  of  the  noisy  circle  of  tormentors 
who  surrounded  her,  and  clinging  fast  to  the  dool 


234 


TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD, 


of  the  calash,  uttered,  in  a sound  betwixt  laughter 
and  screaming,  “ Eh,  d’ye  ken,  Jeanie  Doans,  they 
hae  hangit  our  mother  ? * Then  suddenly  chang- 
ing her  tone  to  that  of  the  most  piteous  entreaty, 
she  added,  “ 0 gar  them  let  me  gang  to  cut  her 
down  ! — let  me  but  cut  her  down  ! — she  is  my 
mother,  if  she  was  waur  than  the  deil,  and  sheTl 
be  nae  mair  kenspeckle  than  half-hangit  Maggie 
Dickson,  that  cried  saut  mony  a day  after  she  had 
been  hangit ; her  voice  was  roupit  and  hoarse,  and 
her  neck  was  a wee  agee,  or  ye  wad  hae  kend  nae 
odds  on  her  frae  ony  other  saut-wife.  ” 

Mr-  Archibald,  embarrassed  by  the  madwoman’s 
clinging  to  the  carriage,  and  detaining  around 
them  her  noisy  and  mischievous  attendants,  was 
all  this  while  looking  out  for  a constable  or  beadle, 
to  whom  he  might  commit  the  unfortunate  crea- 
ture. But  seeing  no  such  person  of  authority,  he 
endeavoured  to  loosen  her  hold  from  the  carriage, 
that  they  might  escape  from  her  by  driving  on. 
This,  however,  could  hardly  be  achieved  without 
some  degree  of  violence ; Madge  held  fast,  and  re- 
newed her  frantic  entreaties  to  be  permitted  to  cut 
down  her  mother.  “ It  was  but  a tenpenny  tow 
lost,”  she  said,  “ and  what  was  that  to  a woman’s 
life  ? ” There  came  up,  however,  a parcel  of  sav- 
age-looking fellows,  butchers  and  graziers  chiefly,  | 
among  whose  cattle  there  had  been  of  late  a very 
general  and  fatal  distemper,  which  their  wisdom 
imputed  to  witchcraft.  They  laid  violent  hands 
on  Madge,  and  tore  her  from  the  carriage,  exclaim- 
ing— “ What,  doest  stop  folk  o’  king’s  highway? 
Hast  no  done  mischief  enow  already,  wi’  thy  mur- 
ders and  thy  witcherings  ? ” 

“ Oh  Jeanie  Deans  — Jeanie  Deans!  ” exclaimed 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN. 


235 


the  poor  maniac,  “ save  my  mother,  and  I will 
take  ye  to  the  Interpreter's  house  again,  — and  I 
will  teach  ye  a'  my  bonny  sangs,  — and  I will  tell 
ye  what  came  o’  the ” The  rest  of  her  en- 

treaties were  drowned  in  the  shouts  of  the  rabble. 

“ Save  her,  for  God's  sake  ! — save  her  from  those 
people ! ” exclaimed  Jeanie  to  Archibald. 

“ She  is  mad,  but  quite  innocent;  she  is  mad, 
gentlemen,  ” said  Archibald ; “ do  not  use  her  ill, 
take  her  before  the  Mayor.  ” 

“ Ay,  ay,  we'se  hae  care  enow  on  her,”  answered 
one  of  the  fellows ; “ gang  thou  thy  gate,  man,  and 
mind  thine  own  matters.  ” 

“ He's  a Scot  by  his  tongue,”  said  another; 
“ and  an  he  will  come  out  o'  his  whirligig  there, 
I'se  gie  him  his  tartan  plaid  fu’  o'  broken  banes.  ” 
It  was  clear  nothing  could  be  done  to  rescue 
Madge;  and  Archibald,  who  was  a man  of  hu- 
manity, could  only  bid  the  postilions  hurry  on  to 
Carlisle,  that  he  might  obtain  some  assistance  to 
the  unfortunate  woman.  As  they  drove  off,  they 
heard  the  hoarse  roar  with  which  the  mob  preface 
acts  of  riot  or  cruelty,  yet  even  above  that  deep 
and  dire  note,  they  could  discern  the  screams  of 
the  unfortunate  victim.  They  were  soon  out  of 
hearing  of  the  cries,  but  had  no  sooner  entered  the 
streets  of  Carlisle,  than  Archibald,  at  Jeanie 's  ear- 
nest and  urgent  entreaty,  went  to  a magistrate,  to 
state  the  cruelty  which  was  likely  to  be  exercised 
on  this  unhappy  creature. 

In  about  an  hour  and  a half  he  returned,  and 
reported  to  Jeanie,  that  the  magistrate  had  very 
readily  gone  in  person,  with  some  assistants,  to 
the  rescue  of  the  unfortunate  woman,  and  that 
he  had  himself  accompanied  him ; that  when  they 


236 


TALES  OE  MY  LANDLORD. 


came  to  the  muddy  pool,  in  which  the  mob  were 
ducking  her,  according  to  their  favourite  mode  of 
punishment,  the  magistrate  succeeded  in  rescuing 
her  from  their  hands,  but  in  a state  of  insensibil- 
ity, owing  to  the  cruel  treatment  which  she  had 
received.  He  added,  that  he  had  seen  her  carried  to 
the  work -house,  and  understood  that  she  had  been 
brought  to  herself,  and  was  expected  to  do  well. 

This  last  averment  was  a slight  alteration  in 
point  of  fact,  for  Madge  Wildfire  was  not  expected 
to  survive  the  treatment  she  had  received ; but 
Jeanie  seemed  so  much  agitated,  that  Mr.  Archi- 
bald did  not  think  it  prudent  to  tell  her  the  worst 
at  once.  Indeed,  she  appeared  so  fluttered  and 
disordered  by  this  alarming  accident,  that,  al- 
though it  had  been  their  intention  to  proceed  to 
Longtown  that  evening,  her  companions  judged  it 
most  advisable  to  pass  the  night  at  Carlisle. 

This  was  particularly  agreeable  to  Jeanie,  who 
resolved,  if  possible,  to  procure  an  interview  with 
Madge  Wildfire.  Connecting  some  of  her  wild 
flights  with  the  narrative  of  George  Staunton,  she 
was  unwilling  to  omit  the  opportunity  of  extracting 
from  her,  if  possible,  some  information  concerning 
the  fate  of  that  unfortunate  infant  which  had  cost 
her  sister  so  dear.  Her  acquaintance  with  the  dis- 
ordered state  of  poor  Madge’s  mind  did  not  permit 
her  to  cherish  much  hope  that  she  could  acquire 
from  her  any  useful  intelligence ; but  then,  since 
Madge’s  mother  had  suffered  her  deserts,  and  was 
silent  forever,  it  was  her  only  chance  of  obtaining 
any  kind  of  information,  and  she  was  loath  to  lose 
the  opportunity. 

She  coloured  her  wish  to  Mr.  Archibald  by  say- 
ing, that  she  had  seen  Madge  formerly,  and  wished 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN.  237 

to  know,  as  a matter  of  humanity,  how  she  was 
attended  to  under  her  present  misfortunes.  That 
complaisant  person  immediately  went  to  the  work- 
house,  or  hospital,  in  which  he  had  seen  the  suf- 
ferer lodged,  and  brought  back  for  reply,  that  the 
medical  attendants  positively  forbade  her  seeing 
any  one.  When  the  application  for  admittance 
was  repeated  next  day,  Mr.  Archibald  was  in- 
formed that  she  had  been  very  quiet  and  composed, 
insomuch  that  the  clergyman,  who  acted  as  chap- 
lain to  the  establishment,  thought  it  expedient  to 
read  prayers  beside  her  bed,  but  that  her  wander- 
ing fit  of  mind  had  returned  soon  after  his  depart- 
ure ; however,  her  country  woman  might  see  her  if 
she  chose  it.  She  was  not  expected  to  live  above 
an  hour  or  two. 

Jeanie  had  no  sooner  received  this  information, 
than  she  hastened  to  the  hospital,  her  companions 
attending  her.  They  found  the  dying  person  in 
a large  ward,  where  there  were  ten  beds,  of  which 
the  patient’s  was  the  only  one  occupied. 

Madge  was  singing  when  they  entered  — singing 
her  own  wild  snatches  of  songs  and  obsolete  airs, 
with  a voice  no  longer  overstrained  by  false  spirits, 
but  softened,  saddened,  and  subdued  by  bodily  ex- 
haustion. She  was  still  insane,  but  was  no  longer 
able  to  express  her  wandering  ideas  in  the  wild 
notes  of  her  former  state  of  exalted  imagination. 
There  was  death  in  the  plaintive  tones  of  her  voice, 
which  yet,  in  this  moderated  and  melancholy 
mood,  had  something  of  the  lulling  sound  with 
which  a mother  sings  her  infant  asleep.  As 
Jeanie  entered,  she  heard  first  the  air,  and  then  a 
part  of  the  chorus  and  words,  of  what  had  been* 
perhaps,  the  song  of  a jolly  harvest-home: 


238 


TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 


“ Our  work  is  over  — over  now, 

The  goodman  wipes  his  weary  brow, 

The  last  long  wain  wends  slow  away, 

And  we  are  free  to  sport  and  play. 

“ The  night  comes  on  when  sets  the  sun, 

And  labour  ends  when  day  is  done. 

When  Autumn’s  gone  and  Winter’s  come, 

We  hold  our  jovial  harvest-home.” 

Jeanie  advanced  to  the  bed-side  when  the  strain 
was  finished,  and  addressed  Madge  by  her  name. 
But  it  produced  no  symptoms  of  recollection.  On 
the  contrary,  the  patient,  like  one  provoked  by 
interruption,  changed  her  posture,  and  called  out, 
with  an  impatient  tone,  “ Nurse  — nurse,  turn  my 
face  to  the  wa\  that  I may  never  answer  to  that 
name  ony  mair,  and  never  see  mair  of  a wicked 
world.  ” 

The  attendant  on  the  hospital  arranged  her  in 
her  bed  as  she  desired,  with  her  face  to  the  wall, 
and  her  back  to  the  light.  So  soon  as  she  was 
quiet  in  this  new  position,  she  began  again  to  sing 
in  the  same  low  and  modulated  strains,  as  if  she 
was  recovering  the  state  of  abstraction  which  the 
interruption  of  her  visitants  had  disturbed.  The 
strain,  however,  was  different,  and  rather  resem- 
bled the  music  of  the  Methodist  hymns,  though 
the  measure  of  the  song  was  similar  to  that  of  the 
former : 

“ When  the  fight  of  grace  is  fought,  — 

When  the  marriage  vest  is  wrought,  — 

When  Faith  hath  chased  cold  Doubt  away, 

And  Hope  but  sickens  at  delay, — 

When  Charity,  imprisoned  here, 

Longs  for  a more  expanded  sphere, 

Doff  thy  robes  of  sin  and  clay ; 

Christian,  rise,  and  come  away.” 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN. 


239 


The  strain  was  solemn  and  affecting,  sustained 
as  it  was  by  the  pathetic  warble  of  a voice  which 
had  naturally  been  a fine  one,  and  which  weak- 
ness, if  it  diminished  its  power,  had  improved  in 
softness.  Archibald,  though  a follower  of  the 
court,  and  a poco-curante  by  profession,  was  con- 
fused, if  not  affected ; the  dairymaid  blubbered ; 
and  Jeanie  felt  the  tears  rise  spontaneously  to  her 
eyes.  Even  the  nurse,  accustomed  to  all  modes 
in  which  the  spirit  can  pass,  seemed  considerably 
moved. 

The  patient  was  evidently  growing  weaker,  as 
was  intimated  by  an  apparent  difficulty  of  breath- 
ing, which  seized  her  from  time  to  time,  and  by 
the  utterance  of  low  listless  moans,  intimating 
that  nature  was  succumbing  in  the  last  conflict. 
But  the  spirit  of  melody,  which  must  originally 
have  so  strongly  possessed  this  unfortunate  young 
woman,  seemed,  at  every  interval  of  ease,  to  tri- 
umph over  her  pain  and  weakness.  And  it  was 
remarkable,  that  there  could  always  be  traced  in 
her  songs  something  appropriate,  though  perhaps 
only  obliquely  or  collaterally  so,  to  her  present 
situation.  Her  next  seemed  to  be  the  fragment  of 
some  old  ballad ; 

“ Caula  is  my  bed,  Lord  Archibald, 

And  sad  my  sleep  of  sorrow ; 

But  thin e* sail  be  as  sad  and  cauld, 

My  fause  true-love  ! to-morrow. 

And  weep  ye  not,  my  maidens  free, 

Though  death  your  mistress  borrow  ; 

For  he  for  whom  I die  to-day, 

Shall  die  for  me  to-morrow. ’’ 

Again  she  changed  the  tune  to  one  wilder,  less 
monotonous,  and  less  regular.  But  of  the  words 


240 


TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 


only  a fragment  or  two  could  be  collected  by  those 
who  listened  to  this  singular  scene  : 

“ Proud  Maisie  is  in  the  wood, 

Walking  so  early; 

Sweet  Robin  sits  on  the  bush, 

Singing  so  rarely. 

“ ‘ Tell  me,  thou  bonny  bird, 

When  shall  I marry  me  ? * — > 

‘ When  six  braw  gentlemen 
Kirkward  shall  carry  ye/ 

u * Who  makes  the  bridal  bed. 

Birdie,  say  truly  ? ’ — 

i The  grey-headed  sexton, 

That  delves  the  grave  duly/ 

u The  glow-worm  o’er  grave  and  stone 
Shall  light  thee  steady ; 

The  owl  from  the  steeple  sing, 

‘Welcome,  proud  lady/” 

Her  voice  died  away  with  the  last  notes,  and  she 
fell  into  a slumber,  from  which  the  experienced 
attendant  assured  them,  that  she  never  would  awake 
at  all,  or  only  in  the  death  agony. 

The  nurse’s  prophecy  proved  true.  The  poor 
maniac  parted  with  existence,  without  again  ut- 
tering a sound  of  any  kind.  But  our  travellers 
did  not  witness  this  catastrophe.  They  left  the 
hospital  as  soon  as  Jeanie  had  satisfied  herself  that 
no  elucidation  of  her  sister’s  misfortunes  was  to 
be  hoped  from  the  dying  person.1 

1 Note  I.  — Madge  Wildfire. 


CHAPTEE  XVII. 


Wilt  thou  go  on  with  me  ? 

The  moon  is  bright,  the  sea  is  calm, 

And  I know  well  the  ocean  paths  .... 

Thou  wilt  go  on  with  me  ! 

Thalaba. 

The  fatigue  and  agitation  of  these  various  scenes 
had  agitated  Jeanie  so  much,  notwithstanding  her 
robust  strength  of  constitution,  that  Archibald 
judged  it  necessary  that  she  should  have  a day’s 
repose  at  the  village  of  Longtown.  It  was  in  vain 
that  Jeanie  herself  protested  against  any  delay. 
The  Duke  of  Argyle’s  man  of  confidence  was  of 
course  consequential ; and  as  he  had  been  bred  to 
the  medical  profession  in  his  youth,  (at  least  he 
used  this  expression  to  describe  his  having,  thirty 
years  before,  pounded  for  six  months  in  the  mortar 
of  old  Mungo  Mangleman,  the  surgeon  at  Green- 
ock,) he  was  obstinate  whenever  a matter  of  health 
was  in  question. 

In  this  case  he  discovered  febrile  symptoms,  and 
having  once  made  a happy  application  of  that 
learned  phrase  to  Jeanie’s  case,  all  farther  resist- 
ance became  in  vain ; and  she  was  glad  to  acquiesce, 
and  even  to  go  to  bed,  and  drink  water-gruel,  in 
order  that  she  might  possess  her  soul  in  quiet,  and 
without  interruption. 

Mr.  Archibald  was  equally  attentive  in  another 
particular.  He  observed  that  the  execution  of  the 
old  woman,  and  the  miserable  fate  of  her  daughter. 


242  TALES  OE  MY  LANDLORD. 

seemed  to  have  had  a more  powerful  effect  upon 
Jeanie’s  mind,  than  the  usual  feelings  of  human- 
ity might  naturally  have  been  expected  to  occa- 
sion. Yet  she  was  obviously  a strong-minded,  sen- 
sible young  woman,  and  in  no  respect  subject  to 
nervous  affections  ; and  therefore  Archibald,  being 
ignorant  of  any  special  connexion  between  his 
master’s  protegee  and  these  unfortunate  persons,  ex- 
cepting that  she  had  seen  Madge  formerly  in  Scot- 
land, naturally  imputed  the  strong  impression  these 
events  had  made  upon  her,  to  her  associating  them 
with  the  unhappy  circumstances  in  which  her  sister 
had  so  lately  stood.  He  became  anxious,  there- 
foie,  to  prevent  any  thing  occurring  which  might 
recall  these  associations  to  Jeanie’s  mind. 

Archibald  had  speedily  an  opportunity  of  exer- 
cising this  precaution.  A pedlar  brought  to  Long- 
town  that  evening,  amongst  other  wares,  a large 
broad-side  sheet,  giving  an  account  of  the  “ Last 
Speech  and  Execution  of  Margaret  Murdockson, 
and  of  the  barbarous  Murder  of  her  Daughter, 
Magdalene  or  Madge  Murdockson,  called  Madge 
Wildfire;  and  of  her  pious  Conversation  with  his 
Reverence  Archdeacon  Fleming  ; ” which  authentic 
publication  had  apparently  taken  place  on  the  day 
they  left  Carlisle,  and  being  an  article  of  a nature 
peculiarly  acceptable  to  such  country-folk  as  were 
within  hearing  of  the  transaction,  the  itinerant 
bibliopolist  had  forthwith  added  them  to  his  stock 
in  trade.  He  found  a merchant  sooner  than  he 
expected  ; for  Archibald,  much  applauding  his  own 
prudence,  purchased  the  whole  lot  for  two  shillings 
and  ninepence ; and  the  pedlar,  delighted  with  the 
profit  of  such  a wholesale  transaction,  instantly  re- 
turned to  Carlisle  to  supply  himself  with  more. 


THE  HEART  OE  MID-LOTHIAN. 


243 


The  considerate  Mr.  Archibald  was  about  to 
commit  his  whole  purchase  to  the  flames,  but  it 
was  rescued  by  the  yet  more  considerate  dairy- 
damsel,  who  said,  very  prudently,  it  was  a pity  to 
waste  so  much  paper,  which  might  crepe  hair,  pin 
up  bonnets,  and  £erve  many  other  useful  purposes  ; 
and  who  promised  to  put  the  parcel  into  her  own 
trunk,  and  keep  it  carefully  out  of  the  sight  of  Mrs. 
Jeanie  Deans  : “ Though,  by  the  by,  she  had  no  great 
notion  of  folk  being  so  very  nice.  Mrs.  Deans 
might  have  had  enough  to  think  about  the  gallows 
all  this  time  to  endure  a sight  of  it,  without  all  this 
to  do  about  it.” 

Archibald  reminded  the  dame  of  the  dairy  of  the 
Duke’s  very  particular  charge,  that  they  should  be 
attentive  and  civil  to  Jeanie ; as  also  that  they  were 
to  part  company  soon,  and  consequently  would  not 
be  doomed  to  observing  any  one’s  health  or  temper 
during  the  rest  of  the  journey.  With  which  answer 
Mrs.  Dolly  Dutton  was  obliged  to  hold  herself 
satisfied. 

On  the  morning  they  resumed  their  journey, 
and  prosecuted  it  successfully,  travelling  through 
Dumfries-shire  and  part  of  Lanarkshire,  until  they 
arrived  at  the  small  town  of  Eutherglen,  within 
about  four  miles  of  Glasgow.  Here  an  express 
brought  letters  to  Archibald  from  the  principal 
agent  of  the  Duke  of  Argyle  in  Edinburgh. 

He  said  nothing  of  their  contents  that  evening ; 
but  when  they  were  seated  in  the  carriage  the  next 
day,  the  faithful  squire  informed  Jeanie,  that  he 
had  received  directions  from  the  Duke’s  factor,  to 
whom  his  Grace  had  recommended  him  to  carry 
her,  if  she  had  no  objection,  for  a stage  or  two  be- 
yond Glasgow.  Some  temporary  causes  of  discon- 


244 


TALES  OE  MY  LANDLORD. 


tent  had  occasioned  tumults  in  that  city  and  the 
neighbourhood,  which  would  render  it  unadvisable 
for  Mrs.  Jeanie  Deans  to  travel  alone  and  unpro- 
tected betwixt  that  city  and  Edinburgh ; whereas, 
by  going  forward  a little  farther,  they  would  meet 
one  of  his  Grace’s  subfactors,  who*  was  coming  down 
from  the  Highlands  to  Edinburgh  with  his  wife, 
and  under  whose  charge  she  might  journey  with 
comfort  and  in  safety. 

Jeanie  remonstrated  against  this  arrangement. 
“ She  had  been  lang,”  she  said,  “ frae  hame  — her 
father  and  her  sister  behoved  to  be  very  anxious  to 
see  her  — there  were  other  friends  she  had  that 
werena  weel  in  health.  She  was  willing  to  pay  for 
man  and  horse  at  Glasgow,  and  surely  naebody 
wad  meddle  wi’  sae  harmless  and  feckless  a creature 
as  she  was.  — She  was  muckle  obliged  by  the  offer ; 
but  never  hunted  deer  langed  for  its  resting-place 
as  I do  to  find  myself  at  Saint  Leonard’s.” 

The  groom  of  the  chambers  exchanged  a look 
with  his  female  companion,  which  seemed  so  full 
of  meaning,  that  Jeanie  screamed  aloud  — “ 0 Mr. 
Archibald  — Mrs.  Dutton,  if  ye  ken  of  ony  thing 
that  has  happened  at  Saint  Leonard’s,  for  God’s 
sake  — for  pity’s  sake,  tell  me,  and  dinna  keep  me 
in  suspense  ! ” 

“ I really  know  nothing,  Mrs.  Deans,”  said  the 
groom  of  the  chamber. 

“ And  I — I — I am  sure,  I knows  as  little,”  said 
the  dame  of  the  dairy,  while  some  communication 
seemed  to  tremble  on  her  lips,  which,  at  a glance 
of  Archibald’s  eye,  she  appeared  to  swallow  down, 
and  compressed  her  lips  thereafter  into  a state  of 
extreme  and  vigilant  firmness,  as  if  she  had  been 
afraid  of  its  jolting  out  before  she  was  aware. 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN. 


245 


Jeanie  saw  that  there  was  to  be  something  con- 
cealed from  her,  and  it  was  only  the  repeated  as- 
surances of  Archibald  that  her  father  — her  sister 
— all  her  friends  were,  as  far  as  he  knew,  well  and 
happy,  that  at  all  pacified  her  alarm.  From  such 
respectable  people  as  those  with  whom  she  travelled 
she  could  apprehend  no  harm,  and  yet  her  distress 
was  so  obvious,  that  Archibald,  as  a last  resource, 
pulled  out,  and  put  into  her  hand,  a slip  of  paper, 
on  which  these  words  were  written : — 

“ Jeanie  Deans  — You  will  do  me  a favour  by 
going  with  Archibald  and  my  female  domestic  a 
day’s  journey  beyond  Glasgow,  and  asking  them  no 
questions,  which  will  greatly  oblige  your  friend, 

“ Argyle  & Greenwich.” 

Although  this  laconic  epistle,  from  a nobleman 
to  whom  she  was  bound  by  such  inestimable  obli- 
gations, silenced  all  Jeanie’s  objections  to  the  pro- 
posed route,  it  rather  added  to  than  diminished 
the  eagerness  of  her  curiosity.  The  proceeding  to 
Glasgow  seemed  now  no  longer  to  be  an  object 
with  her  fellow-travellers.  On  the  contrary,  they 
kept  the  left-hand  side  of  the  river  Clyde,  and 
travelled  through  a thousand  beautiful  and  chang- 
ing views  down  the  side  of  that  noble  stream,  till, 
ceasing  to  hold  its  inland  character,  it  began  to 
assume  that  of  a navigable  river. 

“ You  are  not  for  gaun  intill  Glasgow  then  ? ” 
said  Jeanie,  as  she  observed  that  the  drivers  made 
no  motion  for  inclining  their  horses’  heads  towards 
the  ancient  bridge,  which  was  then  the  only  mode 
of  access  to  St.  .Mungo’s  capital. 

“No,”  replied  Archibald;  “there  is  some  popu- 
lar commotion,  and  as  our  Duke  is  in  opposition 


246 


TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 


to  the  court,  perhaps  we  might  be  too  well  re- 
ceived ; or  they  might  take  it  in  their  heads  to  re- 
member that  the  Captain  of  Carrick  came  down 
upon  them  with  his  Highlandmen  in  the  time  of 
Shawfield’s  mob  ( e ) in  1725,  and  then  we  would  be 
too  ill  received.1  And,  at  any  rate,  it  is  best  for  us, 
and  for  me  in  particular,  who  may  be  supposed  to 
possess  his  Grace’s  mind  upon  many  particulars,  to 
leave  the  good  people  of  the  Gorbals  to  act  accord- 
ing to  their  own  imaginations,  without  either  pro- 
voking or  encouraging  them  by  my  presence.” 

To  reasoning  of  such  tone  and  consequence  Jeanie 
had  nothing  to  reply,  although  it  seemed  to  her  to 
contain  fully  as  much  self-importance  as  truth. 

The  carriage  meantime  rolled  on ; the  river  ex- 
panded itself,  and  gradually  assumed  the  dignity  of 
an  estuary,  or  arm  of  the  sea.  The  influence  of 
the  advancing  and  retiring  tides  became  more  and 
more  evident,  and  in  the  beautiful  words  of  him  of 
the  laurel  wreath,  (f)  the  river  waxed 

u A broader  and  a broader  stream. 

The  Cormorant  stands  upon  its  shoals, 

His  black  and  dripping  wings 
Half  open’d  to  the  wind.” 

“ Which  way  lies  Inverary?”  said  Jeanie,  gaz- 
ing on  the  dusky  ocean  of  Highland  hills,  which 
now,  piled  above  each  other,  and  intersected  by 

1 In  1725,  there  was  a great  riot  in  Glasgow  on  account  of  the 
malt-tax.  Among  the  troops  brought  in  to  restore  order,  was 
one  of  the  independent  companies  of  Highlanders  levied  in 
Argyleshire,  and  distinguished,  in  a lampoon  of  the  period,  as 
“ Campbell  of  Carrick  and  his  Highland  thieves.”  It  was  called 
Shawfield’s  Mob,  because  much  of  the  popular  violence  was 
directed  against  Daniel  Campbell,  Esq.  of  Shawfield,  M.  P., 
Provost  of  the  town 


TIIE  HEART  OE  MID-LOTHIAN.  247 

many  a lake,  stretched  away  on  the  opposite  side 
of  the  river  to  the  northward.  “ Is  yon  high  cas- 
tle the  Duke's  hoose  ? ” 

“ That,  Mrs.  Deans  ? — Lud  help  thee,”  replied 
Archibald,  “ that's  the  old  Castle  of  Dunbarton, 
the  strongest,  place  in  Europe,  be  the  other  what  it 
may.  Sir  William  Wallace  was  governor  of  it  in 
the  old  wars  with  the  English,  and  his  Grace  is 
governor  just  now.  It  is  always  intrusted  to  the 
best  man  in  Scotland.'' 

“ And  does  the  Duke  live  on  that  high  rock, 
then  ? ” demanded  Jeanie. 

“No,  no,  he  has  his  deputy -governor,  who  com- 
mands in  his  absence ; he  lives  in  the  white  house 
you  see  at  the  bottom  of  the  rock  — His  Grace  does 
not  reside  there  himself.'' 

“ I think  not,  indeed,”  said  the  dairy-woman, 
upon  whose  mind  the  road,  since  they  had  left 
Dumfries,  had  made  no  very  favourable  impression  ; 
“ for  if  he  did,  he  might  go  whistle  for  a dairy- 
woman,  an  he  were  the  only  duke  in  England. 
I did  not  leave  my  place  and  my  friends  to  come 
down  to  see  cows  starve  to  death  upon  hills  as  they 
be  at  that  pig-stye  of  Elfinfoot,  as  you  call  it,  Mr. 
Archibald,  or  to  be  perched  up  on  the  top  of  a 
rock,  like  a squirrel  in  his  cage,  hung  out  of  a 
three  pair  of  stairs  window.” 

Inwardly  chuckling  that  these  symptoms  of  recal- 
citration  had  not  taken  place  until  the  fair  male- 
content  was,  as  he  mentally  termed  it,  under  his 
thumb,  Archibald  coolly  replied,  “ that  the  hills 
were  none  of  his  making,  nor  did  he  know  how  to 
mend  them ; but  as  to  lodging,  they  would  soon  be 
in  a house  of  the  Duke's  in  a very  pleasant  island 
called  Roseneath,  where  they  went  to  wait  for 


248 


TALES  OE  MY  LANDLORD. 


shipping  to  take  them  to  Inverary,  and  would  meet 
the  company  with  whom  Jeanie  was  to  return  to 
Edinburgh.,, 

“ An  island  ? ” said  Jeanie,  who,  in  the  course 
of  her  various  and  adventurous  travels,  had  never 
quitted  terra  firma,  “ then  I am  doubting  we  maun 
gang  in  ane  of  these  boats ; they  look  unco  sma’, 
and  the  waves  are  something  rough,  and  ” — 

“ Mr.  Archibald,”  said  Mrs.  Dutton,  “ I will  not 
consent  to  it ; I was  never  engaged  to  leave  the 
country,  and  I desire  you  will  bid  the  boys  drive 
round  the  other  way  to  the  Duke's  house.” 

“ There  is  a safe  pinnace  belonging  to  his  Grace, 
ma’am,  close  by,”  replied  Anjiibald,  “ and  you  need 
be  under  no  apprehensions  whatsoever.” 

“ But  I am  under  apprehensions,”  said  the  dam- 
sel ; “ and  I insist  upon  going  round  by  land,  Mr. 
Archibald,  were  it  ten  miles  about.” 

“ I am  sorry  I cannot  oblige  you,  madam,  as 
Roseneath  happens  to  be  an  island.” 

“ If  it  were  ten  islands,”  said  the  incensed  dame, 
“ that's  no  reason  why  I-  should  be  drowned  in 
going  over  the  seas  to  it.” 

“No  reason  why  you  should  be  drowned,  cer- 
tainly, ma’am,”  answered  the  unmoved  groom  of  the 
chambers,  “but  an  admirable  good  one  why  you 
cannot  proceed  to  it  by  land.”  And,  fixed  his  mas- 
ter's mandates  to  perform,  he  pointed  with  his  hand, 
and  the  drivers,  turning  off  the  high-road,  pro- 
ceeded towards  a small  hamlet  of  fishing  huts,  where 
a shallop,  somewhat  more  gaily  decorated  than  any 
which  they  had  yet  seen,  having  a flag  which  dis- 
played a boar's  head,  crested  with  a ducal  coronet, 
waited  with  two  or  three  seamen,  and  as  many 
Highlanders. 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN. 


249 


The  carriage  stopped,  and  the  men  began  to 
unyoke  their  horses,  while  Mr.  Archibald  gravely 
superintended  the  removal  of  the  baggage  from  the 
carriage  to  the  little  vessel.  “ Has  the  Caroline 
been  long  arrived  ?”  said  Archibald  to  one  of  the 
seamen. 

“ She  has  been  here  in  five  days  from  Liverpool, 
and  she’s  lying  down  at  Greenock,”  answered  the 
fellow. 

“ Let  the  horses  and  carriage  go  down  to  Green- 
ock then,”  said  Archibald,  “ and  be  embarked  there 
for  Inverary  when  I send  notice  — they  may  stand 
in  my  cousin’s,  Duncan  Archibald  the  stabler’ s.  — 
Ladies,”  he  added,  “ I hope  you  will  get  yourselves 
ready,  we  must  not  lose  the  tide.” 

“ Mrs.  Deans,”  said  the  Cowslip  of  Inverary, 
“ you  may  do  as  you  please  — but  I will  sit  here  all 
night,  rather  than  go  into  that  there  painted  egg- 
shell. — Fellow — fellow ! ” (this  was  addressed  to  a 
Highlander  who  was  lifting  a travelling  trunk) 
“ that  trunk  is  mine,  and  that  there  band-box,  and 
that  pillion  mail,  and  those  seven  bundles,  and  the 
paper  bag ; and  if  you  venture  to  touch  one  of  them, 
it  shall  be  at  your  peril.” 

The  Celt  kept  his  eye  fixed  on  the  speaker,  then 
turned  his  head  towards  Archibald,  and  receiving 
no  countervailing  signal,  he  shouldered  the  port- 
manteau, and  without  farther  notice  of  the  dis- 
tressed damsel,  or  paying  any  attention  to  remon- 
strances, which  probably  he  did  not  understand,  and 
would  certainly  have  equally  disregarded  whether 
he  understood  them  or  not,  moved  off  with  Mrs. 
Dutton’s  wearables,  and  deposited  the  trunk  con- 
taining them  safely  in  the  boat. 

The  baggage  being  stowed  in  safety,  Mr.  Archt 


250 


TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 


bald  handed  Jeanie  out  of  the  carriage,  and,  not 
without  some  tremor  on  her  part,  she  was  trans- 
ported through  the  surf  and  placed  in  the  boat.  He 
then  offered  the  same  civility  to  his  fellow-servant, 
but  she  was  resolute  in  her  refusal  to  quit  the  car- 
riage, in  which  she  now  remained  in  solitary  state, 
threatening  all  concerned  or  unconcerned  with  ac- 
tions for  wages  and  board-wages,  damages  and  ex- 
penses, and  numbering  on  her  fingers  the  gowns 
and  other  habiliments,  from  which  she  seemed  in 
the  act  of  being  separated  for  ever.  Mr.  Archibald 
did  not  give  himself  the  trouble  of  making  many 
remonstrances,  which,  indeed,  seemed  only  to  ag- 
gravate the  damsel’s  indignation,  but  spoke  two 
or  three  words  to  the  Highlanders  in  Gaelic ; and 
the  wily  mountaineers,  approaching  the  carriage 
cautiously,  and  without  giving  the  slightest  intima- 
tion of  their  intention,  at  once  seized  the  recusant 
so  effectually  fast  that  she  could  neither  resist  nor 
struggle,  and  hoisting  her  on  their  shoulders  in 
nearly  an  horizontal  posture,  rushed  down  with  her 
to  the  beach,  and  through  the  surf,  and,  with  no 
other  inconvenience  than  ruffling  her  garments  a 
little,  deposited  her  in  the  boat ; but  in  a state  of 
surprise,  mortification,  and  terror,  at  her  sudden 
transportation,  which  rendered  her  absolutely  mute 
for  two  or  three  minutes.  The  men  jumped  in 
themselves  ; one  tall  fellow  remained  till  he  had 
pushed  off  the  boat,  and  then  tumbled  in  upon  his 
companions.  They  took  their  oars  and  began  to 
pull  from  the  shore,  then  spread  their  sail,  and 
drove  merrily  across  the  frith. 

“ You  Scotch  villain ! ” said  the  infuriated  dam- 
sel to  Archibald,  “ how  dare  you  use  a person  like 
me  in  this  way?” 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTIITAN. 


25< 


“Madam,"  said  Archibald,  with  infinite  compo- 
sure, “ it’s  high  time  you  should  know  you  are  in 
the  Duke's  country,  and  that  there  is  not  one  of 
these  fellows  but  would  throw  you  out  of  the  boat 
as  readily  as  into  it,  if  such  were  his  Grace's 
pleasure." 

“ Then  the  Lord  have  mercy  on  me!”  said  Mrs. 
Dutton.  “ If  I had  had  any  on  myself,  I would 
never  have  engaged  with  you.  ” 

“ It's  something  of  the  latest  to  think  of  that 
now,  Mrs.  Dutton,  ” said  Archibald  ; “ but  I assure 
you,  you  will  find  the  Highlands  have  their  plea- 
sures. You  will  have  a dozen  of  cow -milkers 
under  your  own  authority  at  Inverary,  and  you 
may  throw  any  of  them  into  the  lake,  if  you  have 
a mind,  for  the  Duke's  head  people  are  almost  as 
great  as  himself.  ” 

“ This  is  a strange  business,  to  be  sure,  Mr. 
Archibald,  ” said  the  lady ; “ but  I suppose  I must 
make  the  best  on't,  — Are  you  sure  the  boat  will 
not  sink  ? it  leans  terribly  to  one  side,  in  my  poor 
mind.  ” 

“ Fear  nothing,  ” said  Mr.  Archibald,  taking  a 
most  important  pinch  of  snuff;  “this  same  ferry 
on  Clyde  knows  us  very  well,  or  we  know  it,  which 
is  all  the  same ; no  fear  of  any  of  our  people  meet- 
ing with  any  accident.  We  should  have  crossed 
from  the  opposite  shore,  but  for  the  disturbances  at 
Glasgow,  which  made  it  improper  for  his  Grace's 
people  to  pass  through  the  city.  ” 

“ Are  you  not  afeard,  Mrs.  Deans,  ” said  the 
dairy -vestal,  addressing  Jeanie,  who  sat,  not  in  the 
most  comfortable  state  of  mind,  by  the  side  of 
Archibald,  who  himself  managed  the  helm  ; — “ Are 
you  not  afeard  of  these  wild  men  with  their  naked 


252 


TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 


knees,  and  of  this  nut-shell  of  a thing,  that  seems 
bobbing  up  and  down  like  a skimming-dish  in  a 
milk-pail  ? ” 

“ No  — no  — madam, " answered  Jeanie,  with 
some  hesitation,  “ I am  not  feared ; for  I hae  seen 
Hielandmen  before,  though  I never  was  sae  near 
them ; and  for  the  danger  of  the  deep  waters,  I trust 
there  is  a Providence  by  sea  as  well  as  by  land.  ” 

“Well, ” said  Mrs.  Dutton,  “it  is  a beautiful 
thing  to  have  learned  to  write  and  read,  for  one  can 
always  say  such  fine  words  whatever  should  befall 
them.  ” 

Archibald,  rejoicing  in  the  impression  which  his 
vigorous  measures  had  made  upon  the  intractable 
dairymaid,  now  applied  himself,  as  a' sensible  and 
good-natured  man,  to  secure  by  fair  means  the 
ascendency  which  he  had  obtained  by  some  whole- 
some violence ; and  he  succeeded  so  well  in  repre-  ; 
senting  to  her  the  idle  nature  of  her  fears,  and 
the  impossibility  of  leaving  her  upon  the  beach, 
enthroned  in  an  empty  carriage,  that  the  good 
understanding  of  the  party  was  completely  revived 
ere  they  landed  at  Eoseneath. 


: 


< 


CHAPTER  XVIIL 


Did  Fortune  guide, 

Or  rather  Destiny,  our  bark,  to  which 
We  could  appoint  no  port,  to  this  best  place  ? 

Fletcher. 

The  islands  in  the  Frith  of  Clyde,  which  the  daily 
passage  of  so  many  smoke -pennoned  steamboats  now 
renders  so  easily  accessible,  were,  in  our  fathers' 
times,  secluded  spots,  frequented  by  no  travellers, 
and  few  visitants  of  any  kind.  They  are  of  exqui- 
site, yet  varied  beauty.  Arran,  a mountainous 
region,  or  Alpine  island,  abounds  with  the  grand- 
est and  most  romantic  scenery.  Bute  is  of  a softer 
and  more  woodland  character.  The  Cumrays,  as  if 
to  exhibit  a contrast  to  both,  are  green,  level,  and 
bare,  forming  the  links  of  a sort  of  natural  bar, 
which  is  drawn  along  the  mouth  of  the  Frith,  leav- 
ing large  intervals,  however,  of  ocean.  Roseneath, 
a smaller  isle,  lies  much  higher  up  the  Frith,  and 
towards  its  western  shore,  near  the  opening  of  the 
lake  called  the  Gare-Loch,  and  not  far  from  Loch 
Long  and  Loch  Seant,  or  the  Holy-Loch,  which 
wind  from  the  mountains  of  the  Western  Highlands 
to  join  the  estuary  of  the  Clyde. 

In  these  isles  the  severe  frost  winds,  which 
tyrannize  over  the  vegetable  creation  during  a Scot- 
tish spring,  are  comparatively  little  felt;  nor,  ex- 
cepting the  gigantic  strength  of  Arran,  are  they 
much  exposed  to  the  Atlantic  storms,  lying  land- 


254 


TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 


locked  and  protected  to  the  westward  by  the  shores 
of  Ayrshire.  Accordingly,  the  weeping-willow, 
the  weeping-birch,  and  other  trees  of  early  and 
pendulous  shoots,  flourish  in  these  favoured  recesses 
in  a degree  unknown  in  our  eastern  districts ; and 
the  air  is  also  said  to  possess  that  mildness  which 
is  favourable  to  consumptive  cases. 

The  picturesque  beauty  of  the  island  of  Rose- 
neath,  in  particular,  had  such  recommendations, 
that  the  Earls  and  Dukes  of  Argyle,  from  an  early 
period,  made  it  their  occasional  residence,  and  had 
their  temporary  accommodation  in  a fishing  or 
hunting-lodge,  which  succeeding  improvements 
have  since  transformed  into  a palace.  It  was  in 
its  original  simplicity,  when  the  little  bark,  which 
we  left  traversing  the  Frith  at  the  end  of  last  chap- 
ter, approached  the  shores  of  the  isle. 

When  they  touched  the  landing-place,  which  : 
was  partly  shrouded  by  some  old  low  but  wide- 
spreading  oak-trees,  intermixed  with  hazel-bushes, 
two  or  three  figures  were  seen  as  if  awaiting  their 
arrival.  To  these  Jeanie  paid  little  attention,  so 
that  it  was  with  a shock  of  surprise  almost  elec- 
trical, that,  upon  being  carried  by  the  rowers  out  of 
the  boat  to  the  shore,  she  was  received  in  the  arms 
of  her  father ! 

It  was  too  wonderful  to  be  believed  — too  much 
like  a happy  dream  to  have  the  stable  feeling  of 
reality  — She  extricated  herself  from  his  close  and  * 
affectionate  embrace,  and  held  him  at  arm’s  length, 
to  satisfy  her  mind  that  it  was  no  illusion.  But 
the  form  was  indisputable  — Douce  David  Deans 
himself,  in  his  best  light-blue  Sunday’s  coat,  with 
broad  metal-buttons,  and  waistcoat  and  breeches 
of  the  same,  his  strong  gramashes  or  leggins  of 


THE  HEART  OE  MID-LOTHIAN. 


255 


thick  grey  cloth — the  very  copper  buckles  — the 
broad  Lowland  blue  bonnet,  thrown  back  as  he 
lifted  his  eyes  to  Heaven  in  speechless  gratitude  — 
the  grey  locks  that  straggled  from  beneath  it  down 
his  weather-beaten  “ haffets  ” — the  bald  and  fur- 
rowed forehead  — the  clear  blue  eye,  that,  un- 
dimmed by  years,  gleamed  bright  and  pale  from 
under  its  shaggy  grey  pent-house  — the  features, 
usually  so  stern  and  stoical,  now  melted  into  the 
unwonted  expression  of  rapturous  joy,  affection, 
and  gratitude  — were  all  those  of  David  Deans; 
and  so  happily  did  they  assort  together,  that,  should 
I ever  again  see  my  friends  Wilkie  or  Allan,  I will 
try  to  borrow  or  steal  from  them  a sketch  of  this 
very  scene. 

“ Jeanie  — my  ain  Jeanie  — my  best  — my  maist 
dutiful  bairn  — the  Lord  of  Israel  be  thy  father,  for 
I am  hardly  worthy  of  thee ! Thou  hast  redeemed 
our  captivity — brought  back  the  honour  of  our 
house  — Bless  thee,  my  bairn,  with  mercies  prom- 
ised and  purchased!  — But  He  has  blessed  thee, 
in  the  good  of  which  He  has  made  thee  the 
instrument.  ” 

These  words  broke  from  him  not  without  tears, 
though  David  was  of  no  melting  mood.  Archibald 
had,  with  delicate  attention,  withdrawn  the  specta- 
tors from  the  interview,  'so  that  the  wood  and 
setting  sun  alone  were  witnesses  of  the  expansion  of 
their  feelings. 

“ And  Effie  ? — and  Effie,  dear  father ! ” was  an 
eager  interjectional  question  which  Jeanie  repeat- 
edly threw  in  among  her  expressions  of  joyful 
thankfulness. 

“ Ye  will  hear  — ye  will  hear,”  said  David  has- 
tily, and  ever  and  anon  renewed  his  grateful  ac- 


256  TALES  OE  MY  LANDLORD. 

knowledgments  to  Heaven  for  sending  Jeanie  safe 
down  from  the  land  of  prelatic  deadness  and  schis- 
matic heresy ; and  had  delivered  her  from  the 
dangers  of  the  way,  and  the  lions  that  were  in  the 
path. 

“ And  Effie  ? ” repeated  her  affectionate  sister 
again  and  again.  “ And  — and  ” — (fain  would  she 
have  said  Butler,  but  she  modified  the  direct  en- 
quiry) — “ and  Mr.  and  Airs.  Saddletree  — and 
Dumbiedikes — and  a’  friends?  ” 

“ A’  weel  — a’  weel,  praise  to  His  name!  ” 

“ And  — and  Mr.  Butler  — he  wasna  weel  when 
I gaed  awa  ? ” 

“ He  is  quite  mended  — quite  weel,  ” replied  her 
father. 

“ Thank  God  — but  0,  dear  father,  Effie  ? — - 
Effie  ? ” 

“ You  will  never  see  her  mair,  my  bairn,”  an- 
swered Deans  in  a solemn  tone  — “ You  are  the  ae 
and  only  leaf  left  now  on  the  auld  tree  — heal  be 
your  portion ! ” 

“ She  is  dead ! — She  is  slain r — It  has  come 
ower  late!”  exclaimed  Jeanie,  wringing  her  hands. 

“ No,  Jeanie,  ” returned  Deans,  in  the  same  grave  ; 
melancholy  tone.  “ She  lives  in  the  flesh,  and  is  at 
freedom  from  earthly  restraint,  if  she  were  as  much 
alive  in  faith,  and  as  free  from  the  brnads  of  Satan.  ” ' 

“ The  Lord  protect  us  ! ” said  Jeanie.  — “ Can  the 
unhappy  bairn  hae  left  you  for  that  villain  ? ” 

“ It  is  ower  truly  spoken,”  said  Deans  — “ She 
has  left  her  auld  father,  that  has  wept  and  prayed 
for  her  — She  has  left  her  sister,  that  travailed  and 
toiled  for  her  like  a mother  — She  has  left  the 
bones  of  her  mother,  and  the  land  of  her  people, 
and  she  is  ower  the  march  wi’  that  son  of  Belial — ■ 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN. 


257 


She  has  made  a moonlight  hitting  of  it.  ” He 
paused,  for  a feeling  betwixt  sorrow  and  strong 
resentment  choked  his  utterance. 

“ And  wi’  that  man  ? — that  fearfu’  man  ? ” said 
Jeanie.  “ And  she  has  left  us  to  gang  aff  wi’  him  ? 
— 0 Effie,  Effie,  wha  could  hae  thought  it,  after 
sic  a deliverance  as  you  had  been  gifted  wi’ ! ” 

“ She  went  out  from  us,  my  bairn,  because  she 
was  not  of  us,  ” replied  David.  “ She  is  a withered 
branch  will  never  bear  fruit  of  grace  — a scapegoat 
gone  forth  into  the  wilderness  of  the  world,  to  carry 
wi’  her,  as  I trust,  the  sins  of  our  little  congrega- 
tion. The  peace  of  the  warld  gang  wi’  her,  and  a 
better  peace  when  she  has  the  grace  to  turn  to  it ! 
If  she  is  of  His  elected,  His  ain  hour  will  come. 
What  would  her  mother  have  said,  that  famous 
and  memorable  matron,  Rebecca  M’Naught,  whose 
memory  is  like  a flower  of  sweet  savour  in  New- 
battle,  and  a pot  of  frankincense  in  Lugton  ? But 
be  it  sae  — let  her  part  — let  her  gang  her  gate  — 
let  her  bite  on  her  ain  bridle  — The  Lord  kens  his 
time  — She  was  the  bairn  of  prayers,  and  may  not 
prove  an  utter  castaway.  But  never,  Jeanie  — 
never  more  let  her  name  be  spoken  between  you 
and  me  — She  hath  passed  from  us  like  the  brook 
which  vanisheth  when  the  summer  waxetli  warm, 
as  patient  Job  saith  — let  her  pass,  and  be  for- 
gotten. ” 

There  was  a melancholy  pause  which  followed 
these  expressions.  Jeanie  would  fain  have  asked 
more  circumstances  relating  to  her  sister’s  depart- 
ure, but  the  tone  of  her  father’s  prohibition  was 
positive.  She  was  about  to  mention  her  interview 
with  Staunton  at  his  father’s  rectory ; but,  on 
hastily  running  over  the  particulars  in  her  memory, 


258 


TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 


she  thought  that,  on  the  whole,  they  were  more 
likely  to  aggravate  than  diminish  his  distress  of 
mind.  She  turned,  therefore,  the  discourse  from 
this  painful  subject,  resolving  to  suspend  farther 
enquiry  until  she  should  see  Butler,  from  whom 
she  expected  to  learn  the  particulars  of  her  sister’s 
elopement. 

But  when  was  she  to  see  Butler  ? was  a question 
she  could  not  forbear  asking  herself,  especially 
while  her  father,  as  if  eager  to  escape  from  the 
subject  of  his  youngest  daughter,  pointed  to  the 
opposite  shore  of  Dunbartonshire,  and  asking 
Jeanie  “ if  it  werena  a pleasant  abode  ? ” declared  to 
her  his  intention  of  removing  his  earthly  tabernacle 
to  that  country,  “ in  respect  he  was  solicited  by  , 
his  Grace  the  Duke  of  Argyle,  as  one  well  skilled 
in  country  labour,  and  a’  that  appertained  to  flocks 
and  herds,  to  superintend  a store-farm,  whilk  his  j 
Grace  had  taen  into  his  ain  hand  for  the  improve- 
ment of  stock.  ” 

Jeanie ’s  heart  sunk  within  her  at  this  declara-  * 
tion.  “ She  allowed  it  was  a goodly  and  pleasant 
land,  and  sloped  bonnily  to  the  western  sun  ; and 
she  doubtedna  that  the  pasture  might  be  very  gude, 
for  the  grass  looked  green,  for  as  drouthy  as  the 
weather  had  been.  But  it  was  far  frae  hame,  and  j 
she  thought  she  wad  be  often  thinking  on  the  < 
bonny  spots  of  turf,  sae  fu’  of  gowans  and  yellow  j 
kingcups,  amang  the  Crags  at  St.  Leonard’s.” 

“ Dinna  speak  on’t,  Jeanie,”  said  her  father;  “ I ! 
wish  never  to  hear  it  named  mair  — that  is,  after  | 
the  rouping  is  ower,  and  the  bills  paid.  But  I j 
brought  a’  the  beasts  ower-by  that  I thought  ye 
wad  like  best.  There  is  Gowans,  and  there’s  your 
ain  brockit  cow,  and  the  wee  hawkit  ane,  that  ye 


CHE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN. 


259 

ca’d — I needna  tell  ye  how  ye  ca’d  it  — but  I 
couldna  bid  them  sell  the  petted  creature,  though 
the  sight  o’t  may  sometimes  gie  us  a sair  heart  — 
it's  no  the  poor  dumb  creature's  fault  — And  ane 
or  twa  beasts  mair  I hae  reserved,  and  I caused 
them  to  be  driven  before  the  other  beasts,  that  men 
rtiiglit  say,  as  when  the  son  of  Jesse  returned  from 
battle,  ‘ This  is  David’s  spoil.  ’ ” 

Upon  more  particular  enquiry,  Jeanie  found  new 
occasion  to  admire  the  active  beneficence  of  her 
friend  the  Duke  of  Argyle.  While  establishing  a 
sort  of  experimental  farm  on  the  skirts  of  his  im- 
mense Highland  estates,  he  had  been  somewhat  at 
a loss  to  find  a proper  person  in  whom  to  vest  the 
charge  of  it.  The  conversation  his  Grace  had  upon 
country  matters  with  Jeanie  Deans  during  their 
return  from  Richmond,  had  impressed  him  with 
a belief  that  the  father,  whose  experience  and  suc- 
cess she  so  frequently  quoted,  must  be  exactly  the 
sort  of  person  whom  he  wanted.  When  the  condi- 
tion annexed  to  Elbe’s  pardon  rendered  it  highly 
probable  that  David  Deans  would  choose  to  change 
his  place  of  residence,  this  idea  again  occurred  to 
the  Duke  more  strongly,  and  as  he  was  an  enthu- 
siast equally  in  agriculture  and  in  benevolence,  he 
imagined  he  was  serving  the  purposes  of  both, 
when  he  wrote  to  the  gentleman  in  Edinburgh 
intrusted  with  his  affairs,  to  enquire  into  the  char- 
acter of  David  Deans,  cowfeeder,  and  so  forth,  at 
St.  Leonard’s  Crags;  and  if  he  found  him  such  as 
he  had  been  represented;  to  engage  him  without 
delay,  and  on  the  most  liberal  terms,  to  superin- 
tend his  fancy-farm  in  Dunbartonshire. 

The  proposal  was  made  to  old  David  by  the  gen  > 
tleman  so  commissioned,  on  the  second  day  after 


26o 


TALES  OE  MY  LANDLORD. 


his  daughter’s  pardon  had  reached  Edinburgh.  His 
resolution  to  leave  St.  Leonard’s  had  been  already 
formed ; the  honour  of  an  express  invitation  from 
the  Duke  of  Argyle  to  superintend  a department 
where  so  much  skill  and  diligence  was  required, 
was  in  itself  extremely  flattering  ; and  the  more  so, 
because  honest  David,  who  was  not  without  an 
excellent  opinion  of  his  own  talents,  persuaded 
himself  that,  by  accepting  this  charge,  he  would  in 
some  sort  repay  the  great  favour  he  had  received  at 
the  hands  of  the  Argyle  family.  The  appoint- 
ments, including  the  right  of  sufficient  grazing  for 
a small  stock  of  his  own,  were  amply  liberal ; and 
David’s  keen  eye  saw  that  the  situation  was  con- 
venient for  trafficking  to  advantage  in  Highland 
cattle.  There  was  risk  of  “ her’ship  ” 1 from  the 
neighbouring  mountains,  indeed,  but  the  awful 
name  of  the  Duke  of  Argyle  would  be  a great  s 
security,  and  a trifle  of  Mack-mail  would,  David 
was  aware,  assure  his  safety. 

Still,  however,  there  were  two  points  on  which 
he  haggled.  The  first  was  the  character  of  the 
clergyman  with  whose  worship  he  was  to  join ; and 
on  this  delicate  point  he  received,  as  we  will  pres- 
ently show  the  reader,  perfect  satisfaction.  The 
next  obstacle  was  the  condition  of  his  youngest 
daughter,  obliged  as  she  was  to  leave  Scotland  for 
so  many  years. 

The  gentleman  of  the  law  smiled,  and  said, 

“ There  was  no  occasion  to  interpret  that  clause  > 
very  strictly  — that  if  the  young  woman  left  Scot-  ! 

1 Her’ship,  a Scottish  word  which  may  be  said  to  be  now  obso-  ( 
lete ; because,  fortunately,  the  practice  of  “ plundering  by  armed 
force,”  which  is  its  meaning,  does  not  require  to  be  commonly 
Bpoken  of. 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN. 


261 


land  for  a few  months,  or  even  weeks,  and  came  to 
her  father’s  new  residence  by  sea  from  the  western 
side  of  England,  nobody  would  know  of  her  arrival, 
or  at  least  nobody  who  had  either  the  right  or  in- 
clination to  give  her  disturbance.  The  extensive 
heritable  jurisdictions  of  his  Grace  excluded  the 
interference  of  other  magistrates  with  those  living 
on  his  estates,  and  they  who  were  in  immediate 
dependence  on  him  would  receive  orders  to  give  the 
young  woman  /10  disturbance.  Living  on  the  verge 
of  the  Highlands,  she  might,  indeed,  be  said  to  be 
out  of  Scotland,  that  is,  beyond  the  bounds  of  ordi- 
nary law  and  civilisation.  ” 

Old  Deans  was  not  quite  satisfied  with  this  rea- 
soning ; but  the  elopement  of  Effie,  which  took  place 
on  the  third  night  after  her  liberation,  rendered 
his  residence  at  St.  Leonard’s  so  detestable  to  him, 
that  he  closed  at  once  with  the  proposal  which  had 
been  made  him,  and  entered  with  pleasure  into  the 
idea  of  surprising  Jeanie,  as  had  been  proposed  by 
the  Duke,  to  render  the  change  of  residence  more 
striking  to  her.  The  Duke  had  apprised  Archibald 
of  these  circumstances,  with  orders  to  act  according 
to  the  instructions  he  should  receive  from  Edin- 
burgh, and  by  which  accordiqgly  he  was  directed 
to  bring  Jeanie  to  Roseneath. 

The  father  and  daughter  communicated  these 
matters  to  each  other,  now  stopping,  now  walking 
slowly  towards  the  Lodge,  which  showed  itself 
among  the  trees,  at  about  half  a mile’s  distance 
from  the  little  bay  in  which  they  had  landed. 

As  they  approached  the  house,  David  Deans  in- 
formed his  daughter,  with  somewhat  like  a grim 
smile,  which  was  the  utmost  advance  he  ever  made 
towards  a mirthful  expression  of  visage,  that  “ there 


262 


TALES  OE  MY  LANDLORD. 


was  baith  a worshipful  gentleman,  and  ane  rev- 
erend gentleman,  residing  therein.  The  worshipful 
gentleman  was  his  honour  the  Laird  of  Knocktar- 
litie,  who  was  bailie  of  the  Lordship  under  the 
Duke  of  Argyle,  ane  Hieland  gentleman,  tarr’d  wi’ 
the  same  stick,  ” David  doubted,  “ as  mony  of  them, 
namely,  a hasty  and  choleric  temper,  and  a neglect 
of  the  higher  things  that  belong  to  salvation,  and 
also  a gripping  unto  the  things  of  this  world,  with- 
out muckle  distinction  of  property ; but,  however, 
ane  gude  hospitable  gentleman,  with  whom  it 
would  be  a part  of  wisdom  to  live  on  a gude  under- 
standing (for  Hielandmen  were  hasty,  ower  hasty. ) 
As  for  the  reverend  person  of  whom  he  had  spoken, 
he  was  candidate  by  favour  of  the  Duke  of  Argyle 
(for  David  would  not  for  the  universe  have  called 
him  presentee)  for  the  kirk  of  the  parish  in  which 
their  farm  was  situated,  and  he  was  likely  to  be 
highly  acceptable  unto  the  Christian  souls  of  the 
parish,  who  were  hungering  for  spiritual  manna, 
having  been  fed  but  upon  sour  Hieland  sowens  by 
Mr.  Duncan  MacDonought,  the  last  minister,  who 
began  the  morning  duly,  Sunday  and  Saturday, 
with  a mutchkin  of  usquebaugh.  “ But  I need  say 
the  less  about  the  present  lad,  ” said  David,  again 
grimly  grimacing,  “ as  I think  ye  may  hae  seen 
him  afore ; and  here  he  is  come  to  meet  us.  ” 

She  had  indeed  seen  him  before,  for  it  was  no 
other  than  Reuben  Butler  himself. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 


No  more  shalt  thou  behold  thy  sister’s  face ; 

Thou  hast  already  had  her  last  embrace. 

Elegy  on  Mrs . Anne  Killigrew. 

This  second  surprise  had  been  accomplished  for 
Jeanie  Deans  by  the  rod  of  the  same  benevolent 
enchanter,  whose  power  had  transplanted  her  father 
from  the  Crags  of  St.  Leonard’s  to  the  banks  of  the 
Gare-Loch.  The  Duke  of  Argyle  was  not  a person 
to  forget  the  hereditary  debt  of  gratitude,  which 
had  been  bequeathed  to  him  by  his  grandfather,  in 
favour  of  the  grandson  of  old  Bible  Butler.  He 
had  internally  resolved  to  provide  for  Reuben 
Butler  in  this  kirk  of  Knocktarlitie,  of  which  the 
incumbent  had  just  departed  this  life.  Accord- 
ingly, his  agent  received  the  necessary  instructions 
for  that  purpose,  under  the  qualifying  condition 
always,  that  the  learning  and  character  of  Mr. 
Butler  should  be  found  proper  for  the  charge. 
Upon  enquiry,  these  were  found  as  highly  satis- 
factory as  had  been  reported  in  the  case  of  David 
Deans  himself. 

By  this  preferment,  the  Duke  of  Argyle  more 
essentially  benefited  his  friend  and  protegee, 
Jeanie,  than  he  himself  was  aware  of,  since  he 
contributed  to  remove  objections  in  her  father’s 
mind  to  the  match,  which  he  had  no  idea  had  been 
in  existence. 


264 


TALES  OE  MY  LANDLORD. 


We  have  already  noticed  that  Deans  had  some* 
thing  of  a prejudice  against  Butler,  which  was, 
perhaps,  in  some  degree  owing  to  his  possessing  a 
sort  of  consciousness,  that  the  poor  usher  looked 
with  eyes  of  affection  upon  his  eldest  daughter. 
This,  in  David’s  eyes,  was  a sin  of  presumption, 
even  although  it  should  not  he  followed  by  any 
overt  act,  or  actual  proposal.  But  the  lively  inter- 
est which  Butler  had  displayed  in  his  distresses, 
since  Jeanie  set  forth  on  her  London  expedition, 
and  which,  therefore,  he  ascribed  to  personal  re- 
spect for  himself  individually,  had  greatly  softened 
the  feelings  of  irritability  with  which  David  had 
sometimes  regarded  him.  And,  while  he  was  in 
this  good  disposition  towards  Butler,  another  inci- 
dent took  place  which  had  great  influence  on  the 
old  man’s  mind. 

So  soon  as  the  shock  of  Effle’s  second  elopement 
was  over,  it  was  Deans ’s  early  care  to  collect  and 
refund  to  the  Laird  of  Dumbiedikes  the  money 
which  he  had  lent  for  Effie’s  trial,  and  for  Jeanie ’s 
travelling  expenses.  The  Laird,  the  pony,  the 
cocked  hat,  and  the  tobacco-pipe,  had  not  been 
seen  at  St.  Leonard’s  Crags  for  many  a day;  so 
that,  in  order  to  pay  this  debt,  David  was  under 
the  necessity  of  repairing  in  person  to  the  mansion 
of  Dumbiedikes. 

He  found  it  in  a state  of  unexpected  bustle. 
There  were  workmen  pulling  down  some  of  the 
old  hangings,  and  replacing  them  with  others, 
altering,  repairing,  scrubbing,  painting,  and  white- 
washing. There  was  no  knowing  the  old  house, 
which  had  been  so  long  the  mansion  of  sloth  and 
silence.  The  Laird  himself  seemed  in  some  con- 
fusion, and  his  reception,  though  kind,  lacked 


THE  HEART  OE  MID-LOTHIAN. 


265 


something  of  the  reverential  cordiality  with  which 
he  used  to  greet  David  Deans.  There  was  a change 
also,  David  did  not  very  well  know  of  what  nature, 
about  the  exterior  of  this  landed  proprietor  — an 
improvement  in  the  shape  of  his  garments,  a 
spruceness  in  the  air  with  which  they  were  put  on, 
that  were  both  novelties.  Even  the  old  hat  looked 
smarter ; the  cock  had  been  newly  pointed,  the  lace 
had  been  refreshed,  and  instead  of  slouching  back- 
ward or  forward  on  the  Laird’s  head,  as  it  hap- 
pened to  be  thrown  on,  it  was  adjusted  with  a know- 
ing inclination  over  one  eye. 

David  Deans  opened  his  business,  and  told  down 
the  cash.  Dumbiedikes  steadily  inclined  his  ear 
to  the  one,  and  counted  the  other  with  great  accu- 
racy, interrupting  David,  while  he  was  talking  of 
the  redemption  of  the  captivity  of  Judah,  to  ask 
him  whether  he  did  not  think  one  or  two  of  the 
guineas  looked  rather  light.  When  he  was  satis- 
fied on  this  point,  had  pocketed  his  money,  and 
had  signed  a receipt,  he  addressed  David  with 
some  little  hesitation, — “ Jeanie  wad  be  writing 
ye  something,  gudeman  ? ” 

“ About  the  siller  ? ” replied  Davie  — “ N ae 
doubt,  she  did.  ” 

“ And  did  she  say  nae  mair  about  me  ? ” asked 
the  Laird. 

“ Nae  mair  but  kind  and  Christian  wishes  — 
what  suld  she  hae  said  ? ” replied  David,  fully  ex- 
pecting that  the  Laird’s  long  courtship  (if  his  dan- 
gling after  Jeanie  deserves  so  active  a name)  was 
now  coming  to  a point.  And  so  indeed  it  was, 
but  not  to  that  point  which  he  wished  or  expected. 

“ Aweel,  she  kens  her  ain  mind  best,  gudeman. 
I hae  made  a clean  house  0’  Jenny  Balchristie  and 


266 


TALES  OE  MY  LANDLORD. 


her  niece.  They  were  a bad  pack  — steal’d  meat 
and  mault,  and  loot  the  carters  magg  the  coals  — 
I’m  to  be  married  the  morn,  and  kirkit  on 
Sunday.  ” 

Whatever  David  felt,  he  was  too  proud  and  too 
steady-minded  to  show  any  unpleasant  surprise  in 
his  countenance  and  manner. 

“ I wuss  ye  happy,  sir,  through  Him  that  gies 
happiness  — marriage  is  an  honourable  state.  ” 

“ And  I am  wedding  into  an  honourable  house, 
David  — the  Laird  of  Lickpelf’s  youngest  daughter 
— she  sits  next  us  in  the  kirk,  and  that’s  the  way 
I came  to  think  on’t.  ” 

There  was  no  more  to  be  said,  but  again  to  wish 
the  Laird  joy,  to  taste  a cup  of  his  liquor,  and  to 
walk  back  again  to  St.  Leonard’s,  musing  on  the 
mutability  of  human  affairs  and  human  resolutions. 
The  expectation  that  one  day  or  other  Jeanie 
would  be  Lady  Dumbiedikes,  had,  in  spite  of  him- 
self, kept  a more  absolute  possession  of  David’s 
mind  than  he  himself  was  aware  of.  At  least,  it 
had  hitherto  seemed  an  union  at  all  times  within 
his  daughter’s  reach,  whenever  she  might  choose 
to  give  her  silent  lover  any  degree  of  encourage- 
ment, and  now  it  was  vanished  for  ever.  David 
returned,  therefore,  in  no  very  gracious  humour  for 
so  good  a man.  He  was  angry  with  Jeanie  for  not  ; 
having  encouraged  the  Laird  — he  was  angry  with 
the  Laird  for  requiring  encouragement  — and  he 
was  angry  with  himself  for  being  angry  at  all  on 
the  occasion. 

On  his  return  he  found  the  gentleman  who  man- 
aged the  Duke  of  Argyle’s  affairs  was  desirous  of 
seeing  him,  with  a view  to  completing  the  arrange- 
ment between  them.  Thus,  after  a brief  repose, 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN. 


26  7 


he  was  obliged  to  set  off  anew  for  Edinburgh,  so 
that  old  May  Hettly  declared,  “ That  a’  this  was  to 
end  with  the  master  just  walking  himself  aff  his 
feet.  ” 

When  the  business  respecting  the  farm  had  been 
talked  over  and  arranged,  the  professional  gentle- 
man acquainted  David  Deans,  in  answer  to  his 
enquiries  concerning  the  state  of  public  worship, 
that  it  was  the  pleasure  of  the  Duke  to  put 
an  excellent  young  clergyman,  called  Reuben  But- 
ler, into  the  parish,  which  was  to  be  his  future 
residence. 

“ Reuben  Butler ! ” exclaimed  David  — “ Reuben 
Butler,  the  usher  at  Libberton  ? ” 

“ The  very  same,  ” said  the  Duke’s  commissioner ; 
“ his  Grace  has  heard  an  excellent  character  of  him, 
and  has  some  hereditary  obligations  to  him  besides 
— few  ministers  will  be  so  comfortable  as  I am 
directed  to  make  Mr.  Butler.  ” 

“ Obligations  ? — The  Duke  ? — Obligations  to 
Reuben  Butler  — Reuben  Butler  a placed  minister 
of  the  Kirk  of  Scotland ! ” exclaimed  David,  in 
interminable  astonishment,  for  somehow  he  had 
been  led  by  the  bad  success  which  Butler  had 
hitherto  met  with  in  all  his  undertakings,  to  con- 
sider him  as  one  of  those  stepsons  of  Fortune, 
whom  she  treats  with  unceasing  rigour,  and  ends 
with  disinheriting  altogether. 

There  is,  perhaps,  no  time  at  which  we  are  dis- 
posed to  think  so  highly  of  a friend,  as  when  we 
find  him  standing  higher  than  we  expected  in  the 
esteem  of  others.  When  assured  of  the  reality  of 
Butler’s  change  of  prospects,  David  expressed  his 
great  satisfaction  at  his  success  in  life,  which,  he 
observed,  was  entirely  owing  to  himself  (David). 


268 


TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 


“ I advised  his  puir  grandmother,  who  was  but  a 
silly  woman,  to  breed  him  up  to  the  ministry ; and 
I prophesied  that,  with  a blessing  on  his  en- 
deavours, he  would  become  a polished  shaft  in  the 
temple.  He  may  be  something  ower  proud  o’  his 
carnal  learning,  but  a gude  lad,  and  has  the  root  of 
the  matter  — as  ministers  gang  now,  where  ye’ll 
find  ane  better,  ye’ll  find  ten  waur,  than  Reuben 
Butler,  ” 

He  took  leave  of  the  man  of  business,  and  walked 
homeward,  forgetting  his  weariness  in  the  various 
speculations  to  which  this  wonderful  piece  of  in- 
telligence gave  rise.  Honest  David  had  now,  like 
other  great  men,  to  go  to  work  to  reconcile  his  spec- 
ulative principles  with  existing  circumstances ; 
and,  like  other  great  men,  when  they  set  seriously 
about  that  task,  he  was  tolerably  successful. 

“ Ought  Reuben  Butler  in  conscience  to  accept  of 
this  preferment  in  the  Kirk  of  Scotland,  subject  as 
David  at  present  thought  that  establishment  was 
to  the  Erastian  encroachments  of  the  civil  power?” 
This  was  the  leading  question,  and  he  considered 
it  carefully,  “ The  Kirk  of  Scotland  was  shorn  of 
its  beams,  and  deprived  of  its  full  artillery  and 
banners  of  authority ; but  still  it  contained  zealous 
and  fructifying  pastors,  attentive  congregations, 
and,  with  all  her  spots  and  blemishes,  the  like  of 
this  Kirk  was  nowhere  else  to  be  seen  upon 
earth.  ” 

David’s  doubts  had  been  too  many  and  too  crit- 
ical to  permit  him  ever  unequivocally  to  unite  him- 
self with  any  of  the  dissenters,  who,  upon  various 
accounts,  absolutely  seceded  from  the  national 
church.  He  had  often  joined  in  communion  with 
such  of  the  established  clergy  as  approached  nearest 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN. 


269 


to  the  old  Presbyterian  model  and  principles  of 
1640.  And  although  there  were  many  things  to  be 
amended  in  that  system,  yet  he  remembered  that 
he,  David  Deans,  had  himself  ever  been  a humble 
pleader  for  the  good  old  cause  in  a legal  way,  but 
without  rushing  into  right-hand  excesses,  divi- 
sions, and  separations.  But,  as  an  enemy  to  sep- 
aration, he  might  join  the  right-hand  of  fellow- 
ship with  a minister  of  the  Kirk  of  Scotland  in  its 
present  model.  Ergo,  Reuben  Butler  might  take 
possession  of  the  parish  of  Knocktarlitie,  without 
forfeiting  his  friendship  or  favour  — Q.  E.  D. 
But,  secondly,  came  the  trying  point  of  lay- 
patronage,  which  David  Deans  had  ever  maintained 
to  be  a coming  in  by  the  window,  and  over  the 
wall,  a cheating  and  starving  the  souls  of  a whole 
parish,  for  the  purpose  of  clothing  the  back  and 
filling  the  belly  of  the  incumbent. 

This  presentation,  therefore,  from  the  Duke  of 
Argyle,  whatever  was  the  worth  and  high  character 
of  that  nobleman,  was  a limb  of  the  brazen  image, 
a portion  of  the  evil  thing,  and  with  no  kind  of 
consistency  could  David  bend  his  mind  to  favour 
such  a transaction.  But  if  the  parishioners  them- 
selves joined  in  a general  call  to  Reuben  Butler  to 
be  their  pastor,  it  did  not  seem  quite  so  evident 
that  the  existence  of  this  unhappy  presentation 
was  a reason  for  his  refusing  them  the  comforts  of 
his  doctrine.  If  the  presbytery  admitted  him  to 
the  kirk,  in  virtue  rather  of  that  act  of  patronage 
than  of  the  general  call  of  the  congregation,  that 
might  be  their  error,  and  David  allowed  it  was  a 
heavy  one.  But  if  Reuben  Butler  accepted  of  the 
care  as  tendered  to  him  by  those  whom  he  was 
called  to  teach,  and  who  had  expressed  themselves 


270 


TALES  0E  MY  LANDLORD. 


desirous  to  learn,  David,  after  considering  and 
reconsidering  the  matter,  came,  through  the  great 
virtue  of  if,  to  be  of  opinion  that  he  might  safely 
so  act  in  that  matter. 

There  remained  a third  stumbling-block  — the 
oaths  to  government  exacted  from  the  established 
clergyman,  in  which  they  acknowledge  an  Erastian 
king  and  parliament,  and  homologate  the  incor- 
porating Union  between  England  and  Scotland, 
through  which  the  latter  kingdom  had  become  part 
and  portion  of  the  former,  wherein  Prelacy,  the 
sister  of  Popery,  had  made  fast  her  throne,  and  ele- 
vated the  horns  of  her  mitre.  These  were  symp- 
toms of  defection  which  had  often  made  David  cry 
out,  “ My  bowels  — my  bowels ! — I am  pained  at 
the  very  heart !”  And  he  remembered  that  a godly 
Bow-head  matron  had  been  carried  out  of  the  Tol- 
booth  Church  in  a swoon,  beyond  the  reach  of 
brandy  and  burnt  feathers,  merely  on  hearing  these 
fearful  words,  “ It  is  enacted  by  the  Lords  spiritual 
and  temporal,  ” pronounced  from  a Scottish  pulpit, 
in  the  proem  to  the  Porteous  Proclamation.  These 
oaths  were,  therefore,  a deep  compliance  and  dire 
abomination  — a sin  and  a snare,  and  a danger  and 
a defection.  But  this  shibboleth  was  not  always 
exacted.  Ministers  had  respect  to  their  own  tender 
consciences,  and  those  of  their  brethren ; and  it 
was  not  till  a later  period  that  the  reins  of  disci- 
pline were  taken  up  tight  by  the  General  Assem- 
blies and  Presbyteries.  The  peace-making  particle 
came  again  to  David’s  assistance.  If  an  incum- 
bent was  not  called  upon  to  make  such  compliances, 
and  if  he  got  a right  entry  into  the  church  without 
intrusion,  and  by  orderly  appointment,  why,  upon 
the  whole,  David  Deans  came  to  be  of  opinion, 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN. 


27 


that  the  said  incumbent  might  lawfully  enjoy  the 
spirituality  and  temporality  of  the  cure  of  souls  at 
Knocktarlitie,  with  stipend,  manse,  glebe,  and  all 
thereunto  appertaining. 

The  best  and  most  upright-minded  men  are  so 
strongly  influenced  by  existing  circumstances,  that 
it  would  be  somewhat  cruel  to  enquire  too  nearly 
what  weight  paternal  affection  gave  to  these  ingen- 
ious trains  of  reasoning.  Let  David  Deans’s  situ- 
ation be  considered.  He  was  just  deprived  of  one 
daughter,  and  his  eldest,  to  whom  he  owed  so 
much,  was  cut  off,  by  the  sudden  resolution  of 
Dumbiedikes,  from  the  high  hope  which  David 
had  entertained,  that  she  might  one  day  be  mis- 
tress of  that  fair  lordship.  Just  while  this  disap- 
pointment was  bearing  heavy  on  his  spirits,  Butler 
comes  before  his  imagination  — no  longer  the  half- 
starved  threadbare  usher,  but  fat  and  sleek  and  fair, 
the  beneficed  minister  of  Knocktarlitie,  beloved  by 
his  congregation,  — exemplary  in  his  life, — power- 
ful in  his  doctrine, — doing  the  duty  of  the  kirk  as 
never  Highland  minister  did  it  before,  — turning 
sinners  as  a colley  dog  turns  sheep,  — a favourite 
of  the  Duke  of  Argyle,  and  drawing  a stipend  of 
eight  hundred  punds  Scots,  and  four  chalders  of 
victual.  Here  was  a match,  making  up,  in  David’s 
mind,  in  a tenfold  degree,  the  disappointment  in 
the  case  of  Dumbiedikes,  in  so  far  as  the  Goodman 
of  St.  Leonard’s  held  a powerful  minister  in  much 
greater  admiration  than  a mere  landed  proprietor. 
It  did  not  occur  to  him,  as  an  additional  reason  in 
favour  of  the  match,  that  Jeanie  might  herself  have 
some  choice  in  the  matter;  for  the  idea  of  con- 
sulting her  feelings  never  once  entered  into  the 
honest  man’s  head,  any  more  than  the  possibility 


272 


TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 


that  her  inclination  might  perhaps  differ  from  his 
own. 

The  result  of  his  meditations  was,  that  he  was 
called  upon  to  take  the  management  of  the  whole 
affair  into  his  own  hand,  and  give,  if  it  should  be 
found  possible  without  sinful  compliance,  or  back- 
sliding, or  defection  of  any  kind,  a worthy  pastor 
to  the  kirk  of  Knocktarlitie.  Accordingly,  by  the 
intervention  of  the  honest  dealer  in  butter-milk 
who  dwelt  in  Libberton,  David  summoned  to  his 
presence  Eeuben  Butler.  Even  from  this  worthy 
messenger  he  was  unable  to  conceal  certain  swell- 
ing emotions  of  dignity,  insomuch,  that,  when  the 
carter  had  communicated  his  message  to  the  usher, 
he  added,  that  “ Certainly  the  Gudeman  of  St. 
Leonard’s  had  some  grand  news  to  tell  him,  for  he 
was  as  uplifted  as  a midden-cock  upon  pattens.  ” 

Butler,  it  may  readily  be  conceived,  immediately 
obeyed  the  summons.  <^His  was  a plain  character, 
in  which  worth  and  good^sense  and  simplicity  were 
the  principal  ingredients];  but  love,  on  this  occa- 
sion, gave  him  a certain  degree  of  address.  He 
had  received  an  intimation  of  the  favour  designed 
him  by  the  Duke  of  Argyle,  with  what  feelings 
those  only  can  conceive,  who  have  experienced  a 
sudden  prospect  of  being  raised  to  independence 
and  respect,  from  penury  and  toil.  He  resolved, 
however,  that  the  old  man  should  retain  all  the 
consequence  of  being,  in  his  own  opinion,  the  first 
to  communicate  the  important  intelligence.  At 
the  same  time,  he  also  determined  that  in  the 
expected  conference  he  would  permit  David  Deans 
to  expatiate  at  length  upon  the  proposal,  in  all  its 
bearings,  without  irritating  him  either  by  inter- 
ruption or  contradiction.  This  last  plan  was  the 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN, 


273 


most  prudent  he  could  have  adopted ; because, 
although  there  were  many  doubts  which  David 
Deans  could  himself  clear  up  to  his  own  satisfac- 
tion, yet  he  might  have  been  by  no  means  disposed 
to  accept  the  solution  of  any  other  person ; and  to 
engage  him  in  an  argument  would  have  been  cer- 
tain to  confirm  him  at  once  and  for  ever  in  the 
opinion  which  Butler  chanced  to  impugn. 

He  received  his  friend  with  an  appearance  of  im- 
portant gravity,  which  real  misfortune  had  long 
compelled  him  to  lay  aside,  and  which  belonged  to 
those  days  of  awful  authority  in  which  he  predom- 
inated over  Widow  Butler,  and  dictated  the  mode 
of  cultivating  the  crofts  at  Beersheba.  He  made 
known  to  Beuben  with  great  prolixity  the  prospect 
of  his  changing  his  present  residence  for  the  charge 
of  the  Duke  of  Argyle’s  stock-farm  in  Dunbarton- 
shire, and  enumerated  the  various  advantages  of  the 
situation  with  obvious  self-congratulation ; but 
assured  the  patient  hearer,  that  nothing  had  so 
much  moved  him  to  acceptance,  as  the  sense  that, 
by  his  skill  in  bestial,  he  could  render  the  most 
important  services  to  his  Grace  the  Duke  of  Ar- 
gyle,  to  whom,  “ in  the  late  unhappy  circumstance,  ” 
(here  a tear  dimmed  the  sparkle  of  pride  in  the  old 
man’s  eye,)  “ he  had  been  sae  muckle  obliged. 

“ To  put  a rude  Hielandman  into  sic  a charge,  ” 
he  continued,  “ what  could  be  expected  but  that 
he  suld  be  sic  a chiefest  herdsman,  as  wicked  Doeg 
the  Edomite : whereas,  while  this  grey  head  is  to 
the  fore,  not  a elute  0’  them  but  sail  be  as  weel 
cared  for  as  if  they  were  the  fatted  kine  of  Pharaoh. 
— And  now,  Beuben,  lad,  seeing  we  maun  remove 
our  tent  to  a strange  country,  ye  will  be  casting  a 
dolefu’  look  after  us,  and  thinking  with  whom  ye 


274  TALES  OE  MY  LANDLORD. 

are  to  hold  council  anent  your  government  in  thae 
slippery  and  backsliding  times ; and  nae  doubt  re- 
membering, that  the  auld  man,  David  Deans,  was 
made  the  instrument  to  bring  you  out  of  the  mire 
of  schism  and  heresy,  wherein  your  father's  house 
delighted  to  wallow ; aften  also,  nae  doubt,  when 
ye  are  pressed  wi’  ensnaring  trials  and  tentations 
and  heart-plagues,  you,  that  are  like  a recruit  that 
is  marching  for  the  first  time  to  the  took  of  drum, 
will  miss  the  auld,  bauld,  and  experienced  veteran 
soldier  that  has  felt  the  brunt  of  mony  a foul  day, 
and  heard  the  bullets  whistle  as  aften  as  he  has 
hairs  left  on  his  auld  pow.  ” 

It  is  very  possible  that  Butler  might  internally 
be  of  opinion,  that  the  reflection  on  his  ancestor’s 
peculiar  tenets  might  have  been  spared,  or  that  he 
might  be  presumptuous  enough  even  to  think,  that, 
at  his  years  and  with  his  own  lights,  he  might  be 
able  to  hold  his  course  without  the  pilotage  of 
honest  David.  But  he  only  replied,  by  expressing 
his  regret,  that  any  thing  should  separate  him 
from  an  ancient,  tried,  and  affectionate  friend. 

“ But  how  can  it  be  helped,  man?”  said  David, 
twisting  his  features  into  a sort  of  smile  — “ How 
can  we  help  it?  — I trow  ye  canna  tell  me  that  — 
Ye  maun  leave  that  to  ither  folk  — to  the  Duke  of 
Argyle  and  me,  Reuben.  It’s  a gude  thing  to  hae 
friends  in  this  warld  — how  muckle  better  to  hae 
an  interest  beyond  it ! ” 

And  David,  whose  piety,  though  not  always 
quite  rational,  was  as  sincere  as  it  was  habitual  and 
fervent,  looked  reverentially  upward,  and  paused. 
Mr.  Butler  intimated  the  pleasure  with  which  he 
would  receive  his  friend’s  advice  on  a subject  so 
important,  and  David  resumed. 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN. 


275 


"What  think  ye  now,  Reuben,  of  a kirk — a 
regular  kirk  under  the  present  establishment  ? — 
Were  sic  offered  to  ye,  wad  ye  be  free  to  accept  it, 
and  under  whilk  provisions?  — I am  speaking  but 
by  way  of  query  ” 

Butler  replied,  “That  if  such  a prospect  were 
held  out  to  him,  he  would  probably  first  consult 
whether  he  was  likely  to  be  useful  to  the  parish  he 
should  be  called  to  ; and  if  there  appeared  a fair 
prospect  of  his  proving  so,  his  friend  must  be  aware, 
that,  in  every  other  point  of  view,  it  would  be 
highly  advantageous  for  him.” 

“ Right,  Reuben,  very  right,  lad,”  answered  the 
monitor,  “ your  ain  conscience  is  the  first  thing  to 
be  satisfied  — for  how  sail  he  teach  others  that  has 
himsell  sae  ill  learned  the  Scriptures,  as  to  grip 
for  the  lucre  of  foul  earthly  preferment,  sic  as  gear 
and  manse,  money  and  victual,  that  which  is  not 
his  in  a spiritual  sense  — or  wha  makes  his  kirk  a 
stalking-horse,  from  behind  which  he  may  tak  aim 
at  his  stipend  ? But  I look  for  better  things  of  you 
— and  specially  ye  maun  be  minded  not  to  act 
altogether  on  your  ain  judgment,  for  therethrough 
comes  sair  mistakes,  backslidings,  and  defections, 
on  the  left  and  on  the  right.  If  there  were  sic  a 
day  of  trial  put  to  you,  Reuben,  you,  who  are  a 
young  lad,  although  it  may  be  ye  are  gifted  wi’  the 
carnal  tongues,  and  those  whilk  were  spoken  at 
Rome,  whilk  is  now  the  seat  of  the  scarlet  abomi- 
nation, and  by  the  Greeks,  to  whom  the  gospel  was 
as  foolishness,  yet  nae-the-less  ye  may  be  entreated 
by  your  weel-wisher  to  take  the  counsel  of  those 
prudent  and  resolved  and  weather-withstanding 
professors,  wha  hae  kend  what  it  was  to  lurk  on 
banks  and  in  mosses,  in  bogs  and  in  caverns,  and 


276 


TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 


to  risk  the  peril  of  the  head  rather  than  renunce 
the  honesty  of  the  heart.” 

Butler  replied,  “ That  certainly,  possessing  such 
a friend  as  he  hoped  and  trusted  he  had  in  the 
goodman  himself,  who  had  seen  so  many  changes 
in  the  preceding  century,  he  should  be  much  to 
blame  if  he  did  not  avail  himself  of  his  experience 
and  friendly  counsel.” 

“ Eneugh  said  — eneugh  said,  Reuben,”  said  David 
Deans,  with  internal  exultation  ; “ and  say  that  ye 
were  in  the  predicament  whereof  I hae  spoken,  of 
a surety  I would  deem  it  my  duty  to  gang  to  the 
root  o’  the  matter,  and  lay  bare  to  you  the  ulcers 
and  imposthumes,  and  the  sores  and  the  leprosies, 
of  this  our  time,  crying  aloud  and  sparing  not.” 

David  Deans  was  now  in  his  element.  He  com- 
menced his  examination  of  the  doctrines  and  belief 
of  the  Christian  Church  with  the  very  Culdees, 
from  whom  he  passed  to  John  Knox,  — from  John 
Knox  to  the  recusants  in  James  the  Sixth’s  time, 
— Bruce,  Black,  Blair,  Livingstone,  — from  them  to 
the  brief,  and  at  length  triumphant  period  of  the 
presbyterian  church’s  splendour,  until  it  was  over- 
run by  the  English  Independents.  Then  followed 
the  dismal  times  of  prelacy,  the  indulgences,  seven 
in  number,  with  all  their  shades  and  bearings,  until 
he  arrived  at  the  reign  of  King  James  the  Second, 
in  which  he  himself  had  been,  in  his  own  mind, 
neither  an  obscure  actor  nor  an  obscure  sufferer. 
Then  was  Butler  doomed  to  hear  the  most  detailed 
and  annotated  edition  of  what  he  had  so  often 
heard  before  — David  Deans’s  confinement,  namely, 
in  the  iron  cage  in  the  Canongate  Tolbooth,  and 
the  cause  thereof. 

We  should  be  very  unjust  to  our  friend  David 


THE  HEART  OE  MID-LOTHIAN. 


277 


Deans,  if  we  should  “ pretermit,1 ” to  use  his  own 
expression,  a narrative  which  he  held  essential  to 
his  fame.  A drunken  trooper  of  the  Itoyal  Guards, 
Francis  Gordon  by  name,  had  chased  five  or  six  of 
.the  skulking  Whigs,  among  whom  was  our  friend 
David ; and  after  he  had  compelled  them  to  stand, 
and  was  in  the  act  of  brawling  with  them,  one  of 
their  number  fired  a pocket-pistol,  and  shot  him 
dead.  David  used  to  sneer  and  shake  his  head 
when  any  one  asked  him  whether  he  had  been  the 
instrument  of  removing  this  wicked  persecutor 
from  the  face  of  the  earth.  In  fact,  the  merit  of 
the  deed  lay  between  him  and  his  friend,  Patrick 
Walker,  the  pedlar,  whose  works  he  was  so  fond  of 
quoting.  Neither  of  them  cared  directly  to  claim 
the  merit  of  silencing  Mr.  Francis  Gordon  of  the 
Life-Guards,  there  being  some  wild  cousins  of  his 
about  Edinburgh,  who  might  have  been  even  yet 
addicted  to  revenge,  but  yet  neither  of  them  •chose 
to  disown  or  yield  to  the  other  the  merit  of  this 
active  defence  of  their  religious  rites.  David  said, 
that  if  he  had  fired  a pistol  then,  it  was  what  he 
never  did  after  or  before.  And  as  for  Mr.  Patrick 
Walker,  he  has  left  it  upon  record,  that  his  great 
surprise  was,  that  so  small  a pistol  could  kill  so  big 
a man.  These  are  the  words  of  that  venerable 
biographer,  whose  trade  had  not  taught  him  by  ex- 
perience, that  an  inch  was  as  good  as  an  ell.  “ He  ” 
(Francis  Gordon)  “got  a shot  in  his  head  out  of  a 
pocket-pistol,  rather  fit  for  diverting  a boy  than 
killing  such  a furious,  mad,  brisk  man,  which  not- 
withstanding killed  him  dead  ! ” ] 

Upon  the  extensive  foundation  which  the  history 
of  the  kirk  afforded,  during  its  shortlived  triumph 
Note  II.  — Death  of  Erancis  Gordon. 


2 78 


TALES  OE  MY  LANDLORD. 


and  long  tribulation,  David,  with  length  of  breath 
and  of  narrative,  which  would  have  astounded  any 
one  but  a lover  of  his  daughter,  proceeded  to  lay 
down  his  own  rules  for  guiding  the  conscience  of 
his  friend,  as  an  aspirant  to  serve  in  the  ministry.. 
Upon  this  subject,  the  good  man  went  through 
such  a variety  of  nice  and  casuistical  problems,  sup- 
posed so  many  extreme  cases,  made  the  distinctions 
so  critical  and  nice  betwixt  the  right-hand  and  the 
left-hand  — betwixt  compliance  and  defection  — 
holding  back  and  stepping  aside  — slipping  and 
stumbling  — snares  and  errors  — that  at  length,  af- 
ter having  limited  the  path  of  truth  to  a mathemati- 
cal line,  he  was  brought  to  the  broad  admission,  that 
each  man’s  conscience,  after  he  had  gained  a cer-  j 
tain  view  of  the  difficult  navigation  which  he  was  < 
to  encounter,  would  be  the  best  guide  for  his  pilot- 
age. He  stated  the  examples  and  arguments  for 
and  against  the  acceptance  of  a kirk  on  the  present 
revolution  model,  with  much  more  impartiality  to  i 
Butler  than  he  had  been  able  to  place  them  before  ; 
his  own  view.  And  he  concluded,  that  his  young 
friend  ought  to  think  upon  these  things,  and  be 
guided  by  the  voice  of  his  own  conscience,  whether 
he  could  take  such  an  awful  trust  as  the  charge  of  i 
souls,  without  doing  injury  to  his  own  internal  con-  j 
viction  of  what  is  right  or  wrong. 

When  David  had  finished  his  very  long  harangue, 
which  was  only  interrupted  by  monosyllables,  or 
little  more,  on  the  part  of  Butler,  the  orator  him- 
self was  greatly  astonished  to  find  that  the  conclu- 
sion, at  which  he  very  naturally  wished  to  arrive, 
seemed  much  less  decisively  attained  than  when  he  j 
had  argued  the  case  in  his  own  mind. 

In  this  particular,  David’s  current  of  thinking  j 


THE  HEART  OF  MID -LOTH  I AN. 


279 


and  speaking  only  illustrated  the  very  important 
and  general  proposition,  concerning  the  excellence 
of  the  publicity  of  debate.  For,  under  the  influ- 
ence of  any  partial  feeling,  it  is  certain,  that  most 
men  can  more  easily  reconcile  themselves  to  any 
favourite  measure,  when  agitating  it  in  their  own 
mind,  than  when  obliged  to  expose  its  merits  to  a 
third  party,  when  the  necessity  of  seeming  impar- 
tial procures  for  the  opposite  arguments  a much 
more  fair  statement  than  that  which  he  affords  it 
in  tacit  meditation.  Having  finished  what  he  had 
to  say,  David  thought  himself  obliged  to  be  more 
explicit  in  point  of  fact,  and  to  explain  that  this 
was  no  hypothetical  case,  but  one  on  which  (by  his 
own  influence  and  that  of  the  Duke  of  Argyle) 
Reuben  Butler  would  soon  be  called  to  decide. 

It  was  even  with  something  like  apprehension 
that  David  Deans  heard  Butler  announce,  in  re- 
turn to  this  communication,  that  he  would  take 
that  night  to  consider  on  what  he  had  said  with 
such  kind  intentions,  and  return  him  an  answer  the 
next  morning.  The  feelings  of  the  father  mastered 
David  on  this  occasion.  He  pressed  Butler  to  spend 
the  evening  with  him — He  produced,  most  unusual 
at  his  meals,  one,  nay,  two  bottles  of  aged  strong 
ale.  — He  spoke  of  his  daughter  — of  her  merits  — 
her  housewifery  — her  thrift  — her  affection.  He 
led  Butler  so  decidedly  up  to  a declaration  of  his 
feelings  towards  Jeanie,  that,  before  nightfall,  it 
was  distinctly  understood  she  was  to  be  the  bride 
of  Reuben  Butler ; and  if  they  thought  it  indelicate 
to  abridge  the  period  of  deliberation  which  Reuben 
had  stipulated,  it  seemed  to  be  sufficiently  under- 
stood betwixt  them,  that  there  was  a strong  prob- 
ability of  his  becoming  minister  of  Knocktarlitie 


28o 


TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 


providing  the  congregation  were  as  willing  to  ac- 
cept of  him,  as  the  Duke  to  grant  him  the  presenta- 
tion. The  matter  of  the  oaths,  they  agreed,  it  was 
time  enough  to  dispute  about,  whenever  the  shibbo- 
leth should  be  tendered. 

Many  arrangements  were  adopted  that  evening, 
which  were  afterwards  ripened  by  correspondence 
with  the  Duke  of  Argyle’s  man  of  business,  who 
intrusted  Deans  and  Butler  with  the  benevolent 
wish  of  his  principal,  that  they  should  all  meet 
with  Jeanie,  on  her  return  from  England,  at  the 
Duke's  hunting-lodge  in  Roseneath. 

This  retrospect,  so  far  as  the  placid  loves  of 
Jeanie  Deans  and  Reuben  Butler  are  concerned, 
forms  a full  explanation  of  the  preceding  narrative 
up  to  their  meeting  on  the  island  as  already 
mentioned. 


au 

CHAPTEE  XX. 

" I come/’  he  said,  “ my  love,  my  life, 

And  — nature’s  dearest  name  — my  wife : 

Thy  father’s  house  and  friends  resign, 

My  home,  my  friends,  my  sire,  are  thine.” 

Logan. 

The  meeting  of  Jeanie  and  Butler,  under  circuim 
stances  promising  to  crown  an  affection  so  long 
delayed,  was  rather  affecting  from  its  simple  sincer- 
ity than  from  its  uncommon  vehemence  of  feeling. 
David  Deans,  whose  practice  was  sometimes  a little 
different  from  his  theory,  appalled  them  at  first,  by 
giving  them  the  opinion  of  sundry  of  the  suffering 
preachers  and  champions  of  his  younger  days,  that 
marriage,  though  honourable  by  the  laws  of  Scrip- 
ture, was  yet  a state  over-rashly  coveted  by  profes- 
sors, and  specially  by  young  ministers,  whose  desire, 
he  said,  was  at  whiles  too  inordinate  for  kirks,  sti- 
pends, and  wives,  which  had  frequently  occasioned 
over-ready  compliance  with  the  general  defections 
of  the  times.  He  endeavoured  to  make  them  aware 
also,  that  hasty  wedlock  had  been  the  bane  of  many 
a savoury  professor  — that  the  unbelieving  wife 
had  too  often  reversed  the  text,  and  perverted  the 
believing  husband  — that  when  the  famous  Donald 
Cargill,  being  then  hiding  in  Lee- Wood,  in  Lanark- 
shire, it  being  killing-time,  did,  upon  importunity, 
marry  Robert  Marshal  of  Starry  Shaw,  he  had  thus 
expressed  himself : “ What  hath  induced  Robert  to 


282 


TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 


marry  this  woman  ? her  ill  will  overcome  his  good 
— he  will  not  keep  the  way  long  — his  thriving 
days  are  done.”  To  the  sad  accomplishment  of 
which  prophecy  David  said  he  was  himself  a living 
witness,  for  Robert  Marshal,  having  fallen  into 
foul  compliances  with  the  enemy,  went  home,  and 
heard  the  curates,  declined  into  other  steps  of  de- 
fection, and  became  lightly  esteemed.  Indeed,  he 
observed,  that  the  great  upholders  of  the  standard, 
Cargill,  Peden,  Cameron,  and  Ren  wick,  had  less  de- 
light in  tying  the  bonds  of  matrimony  than  in  any 
other  piece  of  their  ministerial  work ; and  although 
they  would  neither  dissuade  the  parties,  nor  refuse 
their  office,  they  considered  the  being  called  to  it  as 
an  evidence  of  indifference,  on  the  part  of  those  be- 
tween whom  it  was  solemnized,  to  the  many  griev- 
ous things  of  the  day.  Notwithstanding,  however, 
that  marriage  was  a snare  unto  many,  David  was  of 
opinion  (as,  indeed,  he  had  showed  in  his  practice) 
that  it  was  in  itself  honourable,  especially  if  times 
were  such  that  honest  men  could  be  secure  against 
being  shot,  hanged,  or  banished,  and  had  ane  com- 
petent livelihood  to  maintain  themselves,  and  those 
that  might  come  after  them.  "And,  therefore,”  as 
he  concluded  something  abruptly,  addressing  Jeanie 
and  Butler,  who,  with  faces  as  high-coloured  as 
crimson,  had  been  listening  to  his  lengthened  argu- 
ment for  and  against  the  holy  state  of  matrimony, 
“ I will  leave  ye  to  your  ain  cracks.” 

As  their  private  conversation,  however  interest- 
ing to  themselves,  might  probably  be  very  little  so 
to  the  reader,  so  far  as  it  respected  their  present 
feelings  and  future  prospects,  we  shall  pass  it  over, 
and  only  mention  the  information  which  Jeanie  re- 
ceived from  Butler  concerning  her  sister’s  elopement, 


THE  HEART  OE  MID-LOTHIAN.  283 

which  contained  many  particulars  that  she  had  been 
unable  to  extract  from  her  father. 

I Jeanie  learned,  therefore,  that,  for  three  days  after 
i her  pardon  had  arrived,  Effie  had  been  the  inmate 
of  her  father’s  house  at  St.  Leonard’s  — that  the  in- 
terviews betwixt  David  and  his  erring  child,  which 
j had  taken  place  before  she  was  liberated  from' prison, 
had  been  touching  in  the  extreme ; but  Butler  could 
I not  suppress  his  opinion,  that,  when  he  was  freed 
from  the  apprehension  of  losing  her  in  a manner  so 
horrible,  her  father  had  tightened  the  bands  of  dis- 
cipline, so  as,  in  some  degree,  to  gall  the  feelings 
and  aggravate  the  irritability  of  a spirit  naturally 
impatient  and  petulant,  and  now  doubly  so  from  the 
sense  of  merited  disgrace. 

On  the  third  night,  Effie  disappeared  from  St. 
Leonard’s,  leaving  no  intimation  whatever  of  the 
route  she  had  taken.  Butler,  however,  set  out  in 
pursuit  of  her,  and  with  much  trouble  traced  her 
towards  a little  landing-place,  formed  by  a small 
brook  which  enters  the  sea  betwixt  Musselburgh  and 
Edinburgh.  This  place,  which  has  been  since  made 
into  a small  harbour,  surrounded  by  many  villas 
and  lodging-houses,  is  now  termed  Portobello.  At 
this  time  it  was  surrounded  by  a waste  common, 
covered  with  furze,  and  unfrequented,  save  by  fish- 
ing-boats, and  now  and  then  a smuggling  lugger. 

A vessel  of  this  description  had  been  hovering  in 
the  Frith  at  the  time  of  Effie’s  elopement,  and,  as 
Butler  ascertained,  a boat  had  come  ashore  in  the 
evening  on  which  the  fugitive  had  disappeared, 
and  had  carried  on  board  a female.  As  the  ves- 
sel made  sail  immediately,  and  landed  no  part  of 
their  cargo,  there  seemed  little  doubt  that  they 
were  accomplices  of  the  notorious  Robertson,  and 


TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 


284 

that  the  vessel  had  only  come  into  the  Frith  to 
carry  off  his  paramour. 

This  was  made  clear  by  a letter  which  Butler 
himself  soon  afterwards  received  by  post,  signed 
E.  D.,  but  without  bearing  any  date  of  place  or  j 
time.  It  was  miserably  ill  written  and  spelt ; sea- 
sickness having  apparently  aided  the  derangement  | 
of  Effie’s  very  irregular  orthography  and  mode  of 
expression.  In  this  epistle,  however,  as  in  all  that 
that  unfortunate  girl  said  or  did,  there  was  some- 
thing to  praise  as  well  as  to  blame.  She  said  in 
her  letter,  “ That  she  could  not  endure  that  her 
father  and  her  sister  should  go  into  banishment,  or  , 
be  partakers  of  her  shame  — that  if  her  burden  was 
a heavy  one,  it  was  of  her  own  binding,  and  she  had, 
the  more  right  to  bear  it  alone,  that  in  future 
they  could  not  be  a comfort  to  her,  or  she  to  them,  j 
since  every  look  and  word  of  her  father  put  her  in, 
mind  of  her  transgression,  and  was  like  to  drive  her 
mad,  — that  she  had  nearly  lost  her  judgment  during, 
the  three  days  she  was  at  St.  Leonard’s  her  father  ;] 
meant  weel  by  her,  and  all  men,  but  he  did  not  know; 
the  dreadful  pain  he  gave  her  in  casting  up  her  sins. 
If  Jeanie  had  been  at  hame,it  might  hae  dune  better 

Jeanie  was  ane,  like  the  angels  in  heaven,  that 

rather  weep  for  sinners,  than  reckon  their  transgres- 
sions But  she  should  never  see  Jeanie  ony  mair; 
and  that  was  the  thought  that  gave  her  the  sairesf 
heart  of  a’ that  had  come  and  gane  yet.  On  her 
bended  knees  would  she  pray  for  Jeanie,  night  and 
day,  baith  for  what  she  had  done,  and  what  she  had 
scorned  to  do,  in  her  behalf ; for  what  a thought 
would  it  have  been  to  her  at  that  moment  0’  time, 
if  that  upright  creature  had  made  a fault  to  save 
her!  She  desired  her  father  would  give  Jeanie  a 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN. 


285 


the  gear  — her  ain  (i.  e.  Effie’s)  mother’s  and  a’  — 
She  had  made  a deed,  giving  up  her  right,  and  it 
was  in  Mr.  Novit’s  hand  — Warld’s  gear  was  hence- 
forward the  least  of  her  care,  nor  was  it  likely  to  be 
muckle  her  mister  — She  hoped  this  would  make  it 
easy  for  her  sister  to  settle ; ” and  immediately  after 
this  expression,  she  wished  Butler  himself  all  good 
things,  in  return  for  his  kindness  to  her.  “For 
herself,”  she  said,  “she  kend  her  lot  would  be  a 
waesome  ane,  but  it  was  of  her  own  framing,  sae 
she  desired  the  less  pity.  But,  for  her  friends’ 
satisfaction,  she  wished  them  to  know  that  she  was 
gaun  nae  ill  gate  — that  they  who  had  done  her 
maist  wrong  were  now  willing  to  do  her  what  jus- 
tice was  in  their  power;  and  she  would,  in  some 
warldly  respects,  be  far  better  off  than  she  deserved. 
But  she  desired  her  family  to  remain  satisfied  with 
this  assurance,  and  give  themselves  no  trouble  in 
making  further  enquiries  after  her.” 

To  David  Deans  and  to  Butler  this  letter  gave 
very  little  comfort;  for  what  was  to  be  expected 
from  this  unfortunate  girl’s  uniting  her  fate  to  that 
of  a character  so  notorious  as  Eobertson,  who  they 
readily  guessed  was  alluded  to  in  the  last  sentence, 
excepting  that  she  should  become  the  partner  and 
victim  of  his  future  crimes.  Jeanie,  who  knew 
George  Staunton’s  character  and  real  rank,  saw 
her  sister’s  situation  under  a ray  of  better  hope. 
She  augured  well  of  the  haste  he  had  shown  to  re- 
claim his  interest  in  Effie,  and  she  trusted  he  had 
made  her  his  wife.  If  so,  it  seemed  improbable 
that,  with  his  expected  fortune,  and  high  con- 
nexions, he  should  again  resume  the  life  of  crimi- 
nal adventure  which  he  had  led,  especially  sincej 
as  matters  stood,  his  life  depended  upon  his  keep- 


286 


TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 


ing  his  own  secret,  which  could  only  be  done  by  an 
entire  change  of  his  habits,  and  particularly  by 
avoiding  all  those  who  had  known  the  heir  of 
Willingham  under  the  character  of  the  audacious, 
criminal,  and  condemned  Eobertson. 

She  thought  it  most  likely  that  the  couple  would 
go  abroad  for  a few  years,  and  not  return  to  Eng- 
land until  the  affair  of  Porteous  was  totally  for- 
gotten. Jeanie,  therefore,  saw  more  hopes  for  her 
sister  than  Butler  or  her  father  had  been  able  to 
perceive ; but  she  was  not  at  liberty  to  impart  the 
comfort  which  she  felt  in  believing  that  she  would 
be  secure  from  the  pressure  of  poverty,  and  in  little 
risk  of  being  seduced  into  the  paths  of  guilt.  She 
could  not  have  explained  this  without  making  pub- 
lic what  it  was  essentially  necessary  for  Effie’s 
chance  of  comfort  to  conceal,  the  identity,  namely, 
of  George  Staunton  and  George  Eobertson.  After ' 
all,  it  was  dreadful  to  think  that  Effie  had  united 
herself  to  a man  condemned  for  felony,  and  liable 
to  trial  for  murder,  whatever  might  be  his  rank  in  : 
life,  and  the  degree  of  his  repentance.  Besides,  it 
was  melancholy  to  reflect,  that,  she  herself  being  in 
possession  of  the  whole  dreadful  secret,  it  was  most 
probable  he  would,  out  of  regard  to  his  own  feel- i 
ings,  and  fear  for  his  safety,  never  again  permit  her  j 
to  see  poor  Effie.  After  perusing  and  re-perusing ) 
her  sister’s  valedictory  letter,  she  gave  ease  to  her 
feelings  in  a flood  of  tears,  which  Butler  in  vain 
endeavoured  to  check  by  every  soothing  attention 
in  his  power.  She  was  obliged,  however,  at  length 
to  look  up  and  wipe  her  eyes,  for  her  father,  think- 
ing he  had  allowed  the  lovers  time  enough  for  con- 
ference, was  now  advancing  towards  them  from  the 
Lodge,  accompanied  by  the  Captain  of  Knockdunder, 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN. 


287 


or,  as  his  friends  called  him  for  brevity's  sake,  Dun- 
can Knock,  a title  which  some  youthful  exploits  had 
rendered  peculiarly  appropriate. 

This  Duncan  of  Knockdunder  was  a person  of 
first-rate  importance  in  the  island  of  Roseneath, 
and  the  continental  parishes  of  Knocktarlitie,  Kil- 
mun,  and  so  forth;  nay,  his  influence  extended  as 
far  as  Cowal,  where,  however,  it  was  obscured  by 
that  of  another  factor.  The  Tower  of  Knockdun- 
der still  occupies,  with  its  remains,  a cliff  overhang- 
ing the  Holy  Loch.  Duncan  swore  it  had  been  a 
royal  castle  ; if  so,  it  was  one  of  the  smallest,  the 
space  within  only  forming  a square  of  sixteen  feet, 
and  bearing  therefore  a ridiculous  proportion  to  the 
thickness  of  the  walls,  which  was  ten  feet  at  least. 
Such  as  it  was,  however,  it  had  long  given  the  title 
of  Captain,  equivalent  to  that  of  Chatellain,  to  the 
ancestors  of  Duncan,  who  were  retainers  of  the 
house  of  Argyle,  and  held  a hereditary  jurisdiction 
under  them,  of  little  extent  indeed,  but  which  had 
great  consequence  in  their  own  eyes,  and  was  usu- 
ally administered  with  a vigour  somewhat  beyond 
the  law. 

The  present  representative  of  that  ancient  family 
was  a stout  short  man  about  fifty,  whose  pleasure 
it  was  to  unite  in  his  own  person  the  dress  of  the 
Highlands  and  Lowlands,  wearing  on  his  head  a 
black  tie-wig,  surmounted  by  a fierce  cocked-hat, 
deeply  guarded  with  gold  lace,  while  the  rest  of  his 
dress  consisted  of  the  plaid  and  philabeg.  Duncan 
superintended  a district  which  was  partly  High- 
land, partly  Lowland,  and  therefore  might  be  sup- 
posed to  combine  their  national  habits,  in  order  to 
show  his  impartiality  to  Trojan  or  Tyrian.  The 
incongruity,  however,  had  a whimsical  and  ludi- 


288 


TALES  OE  MY  LANDLORD. 


crous  effect,  as  it  made  his  head  and  body  look  as 
if  belonging  to  different  individuals ; or,  as  some 
one  said  who  had  seen  the  executions  of  the  insur- 
gent prisoners  in  1715,  it  seemed  as  if  some  Jacob  - 
ite enchanter,  having  recalled  the  sufferers  to  life, 
had  clapped,  in  his  haste,  an  Englishman’s  head  on 
a Highlander’s  body.  To  finish  the  portrait,  the 
bearing  of  the  gracious  Duncan  was  brief,  bluff, 
and  consequential,  and  the  upward  turn  of  his  short 
copper-coloured  nose  indicated  that  he  was  some- 
what addicted  to  wrath  and  usquebaugh. 

When  this  dignitary  had  advanced  up  to  Butler 
and  to  Jeanie,  “ I take  the  freedom,  Mr.  Deans/’ 
he  said,  in  a very  consequential  manner,  “ to  salute 
your  daughter,  wliilk  I presume  this  young  lass  to 
be  — I kiss  every  pretty  girl  that  comes  to  Rose- 
neath,  in  virtue  of  my  office.”  Having  made  this 
gallant  speech,  he  took  out  his  quid,  saluted  Jeanie  1 
with  a hearty  smack,  and  bade  her  welcome  to 
Argyle’s  country.  Then  addressing  Butler,  he  said;  i 
“ Ye  maun  gang  ower  and  meet  the  carle  ministers 
yonder  the  mom,  for  they  will  want  to  do  your  job, 
and  synd  it  down  with  usquebaugh  doubtless  — 
they  seldom  make  dry  wark  in  this  kintra.” 

“ And  the  Laird  ” — said  David  Deans,  addressing 

Butler  in  further  explanation, 

“ The  Captain,  man,”  interrupted  Duncan  ; “ folk 
winna  ken  wha  ye  are  speaking  aboot,  unless  ye  gie 
shentlemens  their  proper  title.” 

“ The  Captain,  then,”  said  David,  “ assures  me 
that  the  call  is  unanimous  on  the  part  of  the  parish- 
ioners — * a real  harmonious  call,  Reuben.” 

“ I pelieve,”  said  Duncan,  “it  was  as  harmonious 
as  could  pe  expected,  when  the  tae  half  o’  the  bodies 
were  clavering  Sassenach,  and  the  t’other  skirling 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAK 


289 


Gaelic,  like  sea-maws  and  clack-geese  before  a 
storm.  Ane  wad  hae  needed  the  gift  of  tongues 
to  ken  preceesely  what  they  said  — but  I pelieve 
the  best  end  of  it  was,  4 Long  live  MacCallummore 
and  Knockdunder  ! ’ — And  as  to  its  being  an  unani- 
mous call,  I wad  be  glad  to  ken  fat  business  the 
carles  have  to  call  ony  thing  or  ony  body  but  what 
the  Duke  and  mysell  likes  ? ” 

“ Nevertheless,”  said  Mr.  Butler,  “ if  any  of  the  par- 
ishioners have  any  scruples,  which  sometimes  happen 
in  the  mind  of  sincere  professors,  I should  be  happy 
of  an  opportunity  of  trying  to  remove  ” — — 

“ Never  fash  your  peard  about  it,  man,”  inter- 
rupted Duncan  Knock  — “ Leave  it  a’  to  me.* — 
Scruple ! deil  ane  o’  them  has  been  bred  up  to  scruple 
ony  thing  that  they’re  bidden  to  do.  And  if  sic  a 
thing  suld  happen  as  ye  speak  o’,  ye  sail  see  the 
sincere  professor,  as  ye  ca’  him,  towed  at  the  stern 
of  my  boat  for  a few  furlongs.  I’ll  try  if  the  water 
of  the  Haly  Loch  winna  wash  off  scruples  as  weel 
as  fleas  — Cot  tarn  ! ” — — 

The  rest  of  Duncan’s  threat  was  lost  in  a growl- 
ing gurgling  sort  of  sound,  which  he  made  in  his 
throat,  and  which  menaced  recusants  with  no  gen- 
tle means  of  conversion.  David  Deans  would  cer- 
tainly have  given  battle  in  defence  of  the  right  of 
the  Christian  congregation  to  be  consulted  in  the 
choice  of  their  own  pastor,  which,  in  his  estimation, 
was  one  of  the  choicest  and  most  inalienable  of  their 
privileges  ; but  he  had  again  engaged  in  close  con- 
versation with  Jeanie,  and,  with  more  interest  than 
he  was  in  use  to  take  in  affairs  foreign  alike  to  his 
occupation  and  to  his  religious  tenets,  was  enquiring 
into  the  particulars  of  her  London  journey.  This 
was,  perhaps,  fortunate  for  the  new-formed  friend- 


290 


TALES  OE  MY  LANDLORD. 


ship  betwixt  him  and  the  Captain  of  Knockdunder, 
which  rested,  in  David’s  estimation,  upon  the  proofs 
he  had  given  of  his  skill  in  managing  stock  ; but 
in  reality,  upon  the  special  charge  transmitted  to 
Duncan  from  the  Duke  and  his  agent,  to  behave 
with  the  utmost  attention  to  Deans  and  his  family. 

“ And  now,  sirs,”  said  Duncan,  in  a commanding 
tone,  “ I am  to  pray  ye  a’  to  come  into  your  supper, 
for  yonder  is  Mr.  Archibald  half  famished,  and  a 
Saxon  woman,  that  looks  as  if  her  een  were  fleeing 
out  o’  her  head  wi’  fear  and  wonder,  as  if  she  had 
never  seen  a slientleman  in  a philabeg  pefore,” 

“ And  Reuben  Butler,”  said  David,  “ will  doubt- 
less desire  instantly  to  retire,  that  he  may  prepare 
his  mind  for  the  exercise  of  to-morrow,  that  his  work 
may  suit  the  day,  and  be  an  offering  of  a sweet 
savour  in  the  nostrils  of  the  reverend  presbytery.” 
“Hout  tout,  man,  it’s  but  little  ye  ken  about  « 
them,”  interrupted  the  Captain.  “ Teil  a ane  o’ 
them  wad  gie  the  savour  of  the  hot  venison  pasty  • 
which  I smell  ” (turning  his  squab  nose  up  in  the  ! 
air)  “a’  the  way  frae  the  Lodge,  for  a’  that  Mr. 
Putler,  or  you  either,  can  say  to  them.” 

David  groaned ; but  judging  he  had  to  do  with  a 
Grallio,  as  he  said,  did  not  think  it  worth  his  while 
to  give  battle.  They  followed  the  Captain  to  the  j 
house,  and  arranged  themselves  with  great  cere-  ' 
mony  round  a well-loaded  supper-table.  The  only 
other  circumstance  of  the  evening  worthy  to  be  \ 
recorded  is,  that  Butler  pronounced  the  blessing; 
that  Knockdunder  found  it  too  long,  and  David 
Deans  censured  it  as  too  short,  from  which  the 
charitable  reader  may  conclude  it  was  exactly  the 
proper  length. 


CHAPTEE  XXI. 


Now  turn  the  Psalms  of  David  ower, 

And  lilt  wi’  holy  clangor  ; 

Of  double  verse  come  gie  us  four, 

And  skirl  up  the  Bangor. 

Burns. 

The  next  was  the  important  day,  when,  according 
to  the  forms  and  ritual  of  the  Scottish  Kirk,  Beu- 
ben  Butler  was  to  be  ordained  minister  of  Knock- 

tarlitie  by  the  Presbytery  of - , And  so  eager 

were  the  whole  party,  that  all,  excepting  Mrs.  Dut- 
ton, the  destined  Cowslip  of  Inverary,  were  stirring 
at  an  early  hour. 

Their  host,  whose  appetite  was  as  quick  and  keen 
as  his  temper,  was  not  long  in  summoning  them  to 
a substantial  breakfast,  where  there  were  at  least 
a dozen  of  different  preparations  of  milk,  plenty  of 
cold  meat,  scores  boiled  and  roasted  eggs,  a huge 
cag  of  butter,  half  a firkin  herrings  boiled  and 
broiled,  fresh  and  salt,  and  tea  and  coffee  for  them 
that  liked  it,  which,  as  their  landlord  assured  them, 
with  a nod  and  a wink,  pointing,  at  the  same  time, 
to  a little  cutter  which  seemed  dodging  under  the 
lee  of  the  island,  cost  them  little  beside  the  fetching 
ashore. 

“ Is  the  contraband  trade  permitted  here  so 
openly ?”  said  Butler.  “I  should  think  it  very 
unfavourable  to  the  people’s  morals.” 


292  TALES  OE  MY  LANDLORD. 

“ The  Duke,  Mr.  Putler,  has  gien  nae  orders 
concerning  the  putting  of  it  down,”  said  the  magis- 
trate, and  seemed  to  think  that  he  had  said  all  that 
was  necessary  to  justify  his  connivance. 

Butler  was  a man  of  prudence,  and  aware  that 
real  good  can  only  be  obtained  by  remonstrance 
when  remonstrance  is  well-timed ; so  for  the  pre-  j 
sent  he  said  nothing  more  on  the  subject. 

When  breakfast  was  half  over,  in  flounced  Mrs. 
Dolly,  as  fine  as  a blue  sacque  and  cherry-coloured 
ribbands  could  make  her. 

“ Good  morrow  to  you,  madam,”  said  the  master 
of  ceremonies ; “ I trust  your  early  rising  will  not 
skaith  ye.” 

The  dame  apologized  to  Captain  Knockunder,  as 
she  was  pleased  to  term  their  entertainer;  “but,  ' 
as  we  say  in  Cheshire,”  she  added,  “ I was  like  the  | 
Mayor  of  Altringham,  who  lies  in  bed  while  his 
breeches  are  mending,  for  the  girl  did  not  bring  up 
the  right  bundle  to  my  room,  till  she  had  brought 
up  all  the  others  by  mistake  one  after  t’other. — 
Well,  I suppose  we  are  all  for  church  to-day,  as  I 
understand  — Pray  may  I be  so  bold  as  to  ask,  if  it 
is  the  fashion  for  you  North -country  gentlemen  to  ; 
go  to  church  in  your  petticoats,  Captain  Knock- 
under ? ” 

“ Captain  of  Knockdunder,  madam,  if  you  please,  | 
for  I knock  under  to  no  man ; and  in  respect  of  my 
garb,  I shall  go  to  church  as  I am,  at  your  service,  j 
madam ; for  if  I were  to  lie  in  bed  like  your  Major 
What-d’ye-callum,  till  my  preeches  were  mended, 

I might  be  there  all  my  life,  seeing  I never  had  a 
pair  of  them  on  my  person  but  twice  in  my  life, 
which  I am  pound  to  remember,  it  peing  when  the 
Duke  brought  his  Duchess  here,  when  her  Grace 


THE  HEART  OE  MID-LOTHIAN. 


293 


pehoved  to  be  pleasured ; so  I e’en  porrowed  the 
minister’s  trews  for  the  twa  days  his  Grace  was 
pleased  to  stay  — but  I will  put  myself  under  sic 
confinement  again  for  no  man  on  earth,  or  woman 
either,  but  her  Grace  being  always  excepted,  as  in 
duty  pound.” 

The  mistress  of  the  milking-pail  stared,  but, 
making  no  answer  to  this  round  declaration,  imme- 
diately proceeded  to  show,  that  the  alarm  of  the 
preceding  evening  had  in  no  degree  injured  her 
appetite. 

When  the  meal  was  finished,  the  Captain  pro- 
posed to  them  to  take  boat,  in  order  that  Mistress 
Jeanie  might  see  her  new  place  of  residence,  and 
that  he  himself  might  enquire  whether  the  neces- 
sary preparations  had  been  made  there,  and  at  the 
Manse,  for  receiving  the  future  inmates  of  these 
mansions. 

The  morning  was  delightful,  and  the  huge  moun- 
tain-shadows slept  upon  the  mirror’d  wave  of  the 
Frith,  almost  as  little  disturbed  as  if  it  had  been  an 
inland  lake.  Even  Mrs.  Dutton’s  fears  no  longer 
annoyed  her.  She  had  been  informed  by  Archibald, 
that  there  was  to  be  some  sort  of  junketting  after 
the  sermon,  and  that  was  what  she  loved  dearly ; 
and  as  for  the  water,  it  was  so  still  that  it  would 
look  quite  like  a pleasuring  on  the  Thames. 

The  whole  party  being  embarked,  therefore,  in  a 
large  boat,  which  the  captain  called  his  coach  and 
six,  and  attended  by  a smaller  one  termed  his  gig, 
the  gallant  Duncan  steered  straight  upon  the  little 
tower  of  the  old-fashioned  church  of  Knocktarlitie, 
and  the  exertions  of  six  stout  rowers  sped  them 
rapidly  on  their  voyage.  As  they  neared  the  land, 
the  hills  appeared  to  recede  from  them,  and  a little 


294 


TALES  OE  MY  LANDLORD. 


valley,  formed  by  the  descent  of  a small  river  from 
the  mountains,  evolved  itself  as  it  were  upon  their 
approach.  The  style  of  the  country  on  each  side 
was  simply  pastoral,  and  resembled,  in  appearance 
and  character,  the  description  of  a forgotten  Scot- 
tish poet,  which  runs  nearly  thus : — 

“ The  water  gently  down  a level  slid, 

With  little  din,  but  couthy  what  it  made  ; 

On  ilka  side  the  trees  grew  thick  and  lang, 

And  wi’  the  wild  birds’  notes  were  a’  in  sang  ; 

On  either  side,  a full  bow-shot  and  mair. 

The  green  was  even,  gowany,  and  fair  ; 

With  easy  slope  on  every  hand  the  braes 
To  the  hills’  feet  with  scattered  bushes  raise  ; 

With  goats  and  sheep  aboon,  and  kye  below, 

The  bonny  banks  all  in  a swarm  did  go.” 1 

They  landed  in  this  Highland  Arcadia,  at  the 
mouth  of  the  small  stream  which  watered  the  de- 
lightful and  peaceable  valley.  Inhabitants  of  sev- 
eral descriptions  came  to  pay  their  respects  to  the 
Captain  of  Knockdunder,  a homage  which  he  was 
very  peremptory  in  exacting,  and  to  see  the  new 
settlers.  Some  of  these  were  men  after  David 
Deans’s  own  heart,  elders  of  the  kirk-session,  zeal- 
ous professors,  from  the  Lennox,  Lanarkshire,  and 
Ayrshire,  to  whom  the  preceding  Duke  of  Argyle 
had  given  rooms  in  this  corner  of  his  estate,  because 
they  had  suffered  for  joining  his  father,  the  unfor- 
tunate Earl,  during  his  ill-fated  attempt  in  1686. 
These  were  cakes  of  the  right  leaven  for  David 
regaling  himself  with ; and,  had  it  not  been  for  this 
circumstance,  he  has  been  heard  to  say,  “ that  the 
Captain  of  Knockdunder  would  have  swore  him  out 
of  the  country  in  twenty-four  hours,  sae  awsome  it 

1 Ross’s  Fortunate  Shepherdess.  Edit.  1778,  p.  23. 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN.  295 

was  to  ony  thinking  soul  to  hear  his  imprecations, 
upon  the  slightest  temptation  that  crossed  his 
humour.” 

Besides  these,  there  were  a wilder  set  of  parish- 
ioners, mountaineers  from  the  upper  glen  and  adja- 
cent hill,  who  spoke  Gaelic,  went  about  armed,  and 
wore  the  Highland  dress.  But  the  strict  com- 
mands of  the  Duke  had  established  such  good 
order  in  this  part  of  his  territories,  that  the  Gael 
and  Saxons  lived  upon  the  best  possible  terms  of 
good  neighbourhood. 

They  first  visited  the  Manse,  as  the  parsonage  is 
termed  in  Scotland.  It  was  old,  but  in  good  re- 
pair, and  stood  snugly  embosomed  in  a grove  of 
sycamore,  with  a well-stocked  garden  in  front, 
bounded  by  the  small  river,  which  was  partly  visi- 
ble from  the  windows,  partly  concealed  by  the 
bushes,  trees,  and  bounding  hedge.  Within,  the 
house  looked  less  comfortable  than  it  might  have 
been,  for  it  had  been  neglected  by  the  late  incum- 
bent ; but  workmen  had  been  labouring  under  the 
directions  of  the  Captain  of  Knockdunder,  and  at 
the  expense  of  the  Duke  of  Argyle,  to  put  it  into 
some  order.  The  old  “ plenishing  ” had  been  re- 
moved, and  neat,  but  plain  household  furniture  had 
been  sent  down  by  the  Duke  in  a brig  of  his  own, 
called  the  Caroline,  and  was  now  ready  to  be  placed 
in  order  in  the  apartments. 

The  gracious  Duncan,  finding  matters  were  at  a 
stand  among  the  workmen,  summoned  before  him 
the  delinquents,  and  impressed  all  who  heard  him 
with  a sense  of  his  authority,  by  the  penalties  with 
which  he  threatened  them  for  their  delay.  Mulct- 
ing them  in  half  their  charge,  he  assured  them, 
would  be  the  least  of  it , for,  if  they  were  to  neglect 


296 


TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 


his  pleasure  and  the  Duke’s,  “ he  would  be  tamn’d 
if  he  paid  them  the  t’other  half  either,  and  they 
might  seek  law  for  it  where  they  could  get  it.” 
The  work-people  humbled  themselves  before  the 
offended  dignitary,  and  spake  him  soft  and  fail ; 
and  at  length,  upon  Mr.  Butler  recalling  to  his 
mind  that  it  was  the  ordination-day,  and  that  the 
workmen  were  probably  thinking  of  going  to  church, 
Knockdunder  agreed  to  forgive  them,  out  of  respect 
to  their  new  minister. 

“ But  an  I catch  them  neglecking  my  duty  again, 
Mr.  Putler,  the  teil  pe  in  me  if  the  kirk  shall  be  an 
excuse ; for  what  has  the  like  o’  them  rapparees  to 
do  at  the  kirk  ony  day  put  Sundays,  or  then  either, 
if  the  Duke  and  I has  the  necessitous  uses  for 
them  ? ” 

It  may  be  guessed  with  what  feelings  of  quiet 
satisfaction  and  delight  Butler  looked  forward  to  : 
spending  his  days,  honoured  and  useful  as  he  trusted 
to  be,  in  this  sequestered  valley,  and  how  often  * 
an  intelligent  glance  was  exchanged  betwixt  him 
and  Jeanie,  whose  good-humoured  face  looked  posi- 
tively handsome,  from  the  expression  of  modesty, 
and,  at  the  same  time,  of  satisfaction,  which  she 
wore  when  visiting  the  apartments  of  which  she 
was  soon  to  call  herself  mistress.  She  was  ’left  at 
liberty  to  give  more  open  indulgence  to  her  feel- 
ings of  delight  and  admiration,  when,  leaving  the 
Manse,  the  company  proceeded  to  examine  the  des-  l 
tined  habitation  of  David  Deans. 

Jeanie  found  with  pleasure  that  it  was  not  above 
a musket-shot  from  the  Manse ; for  it  had  been  a 
bar  to  her  happiness  to  think  she  might  be  obliged 
to  reside  at  a distance  from  her  father,  and  she 
was  aware  that  there  were  strong  objections  to  his 


THE  HEAHT  OF  MID-LOTHIAN. 


297 


actually  living  in  the  same  house  with  Butler.  But 
this  brief  distance  was  the  very  thing  which  she 
could  have  wished. 

The  farm-house  was  on  the  plan  of  an  improved 
cottage,  and  contrived  with  great  regard  to  conve- 
nience ; an  excellent  little  garden,  an  orchard,  and 
a set  of  offices  complete,  according  to  the  best  ideas 
of  the  time,  combined  to  render  it  a most  desirable 
habitation  for  the  practical  farmer,  and  far  superior 
to  the  hovel  at  Woodend,  and  the  small  house  at 
Saint  Leonard's  Crags.  The  situation  was  consider- 
ably higher  than  that  of  the  Manse,  and  fronted  to 
the  west.  The  windows  commanded  an  enchant- 
ing view  of  the  little  vale  over  which  the  mansion 
seemed  to  preside,  the  windings  of  the  stream,  and 
the  Frith,  with  its  associated  lakes  and  romantic 
islands.  The  hills  of  Dunbartonshire,  once  pos- 
sessed by  the  fierce  clan  of  MacFarlanes,  formed  a 
crescent  behind  the  valley,  and  far  to  the  right 
were  seen  the  dusky  and  more  gigantic  mountain* 
of  Argyleshire,  with  a seaward  view  of  the  shat 
tered  and  thunder-splitten  peaks  of  Arran. 

But  to  Jeanie,  whose  taste  for  the  picturesque,  ii 
she  had  any  by  nature,  had  never  been  awakened 
or  cultivated,  the  sight  of  the  faithful  old  May 
Hettley,  as  she  opened  the  door  to  receive  them  ffi 
her  clean  toy,  Sunday's  russet-gown,  and  blue  apron 
nicely  smoothed  down  before  her,  was  worth  th( 
whole  varied  landscape.  The  raptures  of  the  faith- 
ful old  creature  at  seeing  Jeanie  were  equal  to  hei 
own,  as  she  hastened  to  assure  her,  “ that  baith  the 
gudeman  and  the  beasts  had  been  as  weel  seen  aftei 
as  she  possibly  could  contrive.”  Separating  hei 
from  the  rest  of  the  company,  May  then  hurried 
her  young  mistress  to  the  offices,  that  she  might 


298 


TALES  OE  MY  LANDLORD. 


receive  the  compliments  she  expected  for  her  care 
of  the  cows.  Jeanie  rejoiced,  in  the  simplicity  of 
her  heart,  to  see  her  charge  once  more ; and  the 
mute  favourites  of  our  heroine,  Gowans,  and  the 
others,  acknowledged  her  presence  by  lowing,  turn- 
ing round  their  broad  and  decent  brows  when  they 
heard  her  well-known  “ Pruh,  my  leddy  — pruh, 
my  woman,”  and,  by  various  indications,  known 
only  to  those  who  have  studied  the  habits  of  the 
milky  mothers,  showing  sensible  pleasure  as  she 
approached  to  caress  them  in  their  turn. 

“ The  very  brute  beasts  are  glad  to  see  ye  again,” 
said  May  ; “ but  nae  wonder,  Jeanie,  for  ye  were  aye 
kind  to  beast  and  body.  And  I maun  learn  to  ca’ 
ye  mistress  now,  Jeanie,  since  ye  hae  been  up  to 
Lunnon.  and  seen  the  Duke,  and  the  King,  and  a’ 
the  braw  folk.  But  wrha  kens,”  added  the  old  dame 
slyly,  “what  IT1  hae  to  ca’  ye  forby  mistress,  for  I 
am  thinking  it  wunna  lang  be  Deans.” 

“ Ca’  me  your  ain  Jeanie,  May,  and  then  ye  can 
never  gang  wrang.” 

In  the  cow-house  which  they  examined,  there 
was  one  animal  which  Jeanie  looked  at  till  the  tears 
gushed  from  her  eyes.  May,  who  had  watched  her 
with  a sympathizing  expression,  immediately  ob- 
served, in  an  under  tone,  “ The  gudeman  aye  sorts 
that  beast  himsell,  and  is  kinder  to  it  than  ony 
beast  in  the  byre ; and  I noticed  he  was  that  way 
e'en  when  he  was  angriest,  and  had  maist  cause  to 
be  angry.  — Eh,  sirs ! a parent's  heart's  a queer 
thing ! — Mony  a warsle  he  has  had  for  that  puir 
lassie  — I am  thinking  he  petitions  mair  for  her 
than  for  yoursell,  hinny ; for  what  can  he  plead  for 
you  but  just  to  wish  you  the  blessing  ye  deserve  ? 
And  when  I sleepit  ayont  the  hallan,  when  we  came 


THE  HEART  OE  MID-LOTHIAN.  299 

first  here,  he  was  often  earnest  a'  night,  and  I could 
hear  him  come  ower  and  ower  again  wi’,  ‘ Effie  — 
puir  blinded  misguided  thing  1 * it  was  aye  ‘ Effie ! 
Effie  ! * — If  that  puir  wandering  lamb  comena  into 
the  sheepfauld  in  the  Shepherd’s  ain  time,  it  will  be 
an  unco  wonder,  for  I wot  she  has  been  a child  of 
prayers.  0,  if  the  puir  prodigal  wad  return,  sae 
blithely  as  the  goodman  wad  kill  the  fatted  calf ! — 
though  Brockie’s  calf  will  no  be  fit  for  killing  this 
three  weeks  yet.” 

And  then,  with  the  discursive  talent  of  persons 
of  her  description,  she  got  once  more  afloat  in  her 
account  of  domestic  affairs,  and  left  this  delicate 
and  affecting  topic. 

Having  looked  at  everything  in  the  offices  and 
the  dairy,  and  expressed  her  satisfaction  with  the 
manner  in  which  matters  had  been  managed  in  her 
absence,  Jeanie  rejoined  the  rest  of  the  party,  who 
were  surveying  the  interior  of  the  house,  all  except- 
ing David  Deans  and  Butler,  who  had  gone  down 
to  the  church  to  meet  the  kirk-session  and  the 
clergymen  of  the  presbytery,  and  arrange  matters 
for  the  duty  of  the  day. 

In  the  interior  of  the  cottage  all  was  clean,  neat, 
and  suitable  to  the  exterior.  It  had  been  originally 
built  and  furnished  by  the  Duke,  as  a retreat  for 
a favourite  domestic  of  the  higher  class,  who  did 
not  long  enjoy  it,  and  had  been  dead  only  a few 
months,  so  that  everything  was  in  excellent  taste 
and  good  order.  But  in  Jeanie’s  bedroom  was  a 
neat  trunk,  which  had  greatly  excited  Mrs.  Dutton’s 
curiosity,  for  she  was  sure  that  the  direction,  “Foi 
Mrs.  Jean  Deans,  at  Auchingower,  parish  of  Knock  - 
tarlitie,”  was  the  writing  of  Mrs.  Semple,  the 
Duchess’s  own  woman.  May  Hettly  produced 


300  TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 

the  key  in  a sealed  parcel,  which  bore  the  same 
address,  and  attached  to  the  key  was  a label,  inti- 
mating that  the  trunk  and  its  contents  were  “ a 
token  of  remembrance  to  Jeanie  Deans,  from  her 
friends  the  Duchess  of  Argyle  and  the  young 
ladies.”  The  trunk,  hastily  opened,  as  the  reader 
will  not  doubt,  was  found  to  be  full  of  wearing 
apparel  of  the  best  quality,  suited  to  Jeanie’s  rank 
in  life ; and  to  most  of  the  articles  the  names  of 
the  particular  donors  were  attached,  as  if  to  make 
Jeanie  sensible  not  only  of  the  general,  but  of  the 
individual  interest  she  had  excited  in  the  noble 
family.  To  name  the  various  articles  by  their  ap- 
propriate names,  would  be  to  attempt  things  unat- 
tempted yet  in  prose  or  rhyme ; besides,  that  the 
old-fashioned  terms  of  manteaus,  sacques,  kissing- 
strings,  and  so  forth,  would  convey  but  little  infor- 
mation even  to  the  milliners  of  the  present  day.  1 | 

shall  deposit,  however,  an  accurate  inventory  of  the 
contents  of  the  trunk  with  my  kind  friend,  Miss 
Martha  Buskbody,  who  has  promised,  should  the 
public  curiosity  seem  interested  in  the  subject,  to 
supply  me  with  a professional  glossary  and  com- 
mentary. Suffice  it  to  say,  that  the  gift  was  such 
as  became  the  donors,  and  was  suited  to  the  situa- 
tion of  the  receiver ; that  every  thing  was  handsome 
and  appropriate,  and  nothing  forgotten  which  be- 
longed to  the  wardrobe  of  a young  person  in  Jeanie’s 
situation  in  life,  the  destined  bride  of  a respectable  j 
clergyman. 

Article  after  article  was  displayed,  commented 
upon,  and  admired,  to  the  wonder  of  May,  who 
declared,  “she  didna  think  the  Queen  had  mair 
or  better  claise,”  and  somewhat  to  the  envy  of  the 
northern  Cowslip.  This  unamiable,  but  not  very 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN. 


301 


unnatural,  disposition  of  mind,  broke  forth  in  sun- 
dry unfounded  criticisms  to  the  disparagement  of 
the  articles,  as  they  were  severally  exhibited.  But 
it  assumed  a more  direct  character,  when,  at  the 
bottom  of  all,  was  found  a dress  of  white  silk,  very 
plainly  made,  but  still  of  white  silk,  and  French 
silk  to  boot,  with  a paper  pinned  to  it,  bearing,  that 
it  was  a present  from  the  Duke  of  Argyle  to  his 
travelling  companion,  to  be  worn  on  the  day  when 
she  should  change  her  name. 

Mrs.  Dutton  could  forbear  no  longer,  but  whis- 
pered into  Mr.  Archibald’s  ear,  that  it  was  a clever 
thing  to  be  a Scotchwoman : “ She  supposed  all 
her  sisters,  and  she  had  half  a dozen,  might  have 
been  hanged,  without  any  one  sending  her  a pre- 
sent of  a pocket  handkerchief.” 

“ Or  without  your  making  any  exertion  to  save 
them,  Mrs.  Dolly,”  answered  Archibald  drily.  — 
“ But  I am  surprised  we  do  not  hear  the  bell  yet,” 
said  he,  looking  at  his  watch. 

“Fat  ta  deil,  Mr.  Archibald,”  answered  the  Cap- 
tain of  Knockdunder,  “ wad  ye  hae  them  ring  the 
bell  before  I am  ready  to  gang  to  kirk  ? — I wad 
gar  the  bedral  eat  the  bell-rope,  if  he  took  ony  sic 
freedom.  But  if  ye  want  to  hear  the  bell,  I will 
just  show  mysell  on  the  knowe-head,  and  it  will 
begin  jowing  forthwith.” 

Accordingly,  so  soon  as  they  sallied  out,  and  that 
the  gold-laced  hat  of  the  Captain  was  seen  rising 
like  Hesper  above  the  dewy  verge  of  the  rising 
ground,  the  clash  (for  it  was  rather  a clash  than 
a clang)  of  the  bell  was  heard  from  the  old  moss 
grown  tower,  and  the  clapper  continued  to  thump 
its  cracked  sides  all  the  while  they  advanced  to- 
wards the  kirk,  Duncan  exhorting  them  to  take 


302 


TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 


their  own  time,  “ for  teil  ony  sport  wad  be  till  he 
came.”  1 

Accordingly,  the  bell  only  changed  to  the  final 
and  impatient  chime  when,  they  crossed  the  stile  ; 
and  “ rang  in,”  that  is,  concluded  its  mistuned 
summons,  when  they  had  entered  the  Duke’s  seat, 
in  the  little  kirk,  where  the  whole  party  arranged 
themselves,  with  Duncan  at  their  head,  excepting 
David  Deans,  who  already  occupied  a seat  among 
the  elders. 

The  business  of  the  day,  with  a particular  detail 
of  which  it  is  unnecessary  to  trouble  the  reader, 
was  gone  through  according  to  the  established  form, 
and  the  sermon  pronounced  upon  the  occasion  had 
the  good  fortune  to  please  even  the  critical  David 
Deans,  though  it  was  only  an  hour  and  a quarter 
long,  which  David  termed  a short  allowance  of 
spiritual  provender. 

The  preacher,  who  was  a divine  that  held  many 
of  David’s  opinions,  privately  apologized  for  his 
brevity  by  saying,  “ That  he  observed  the  Captain 
was  ganting  grievously,  and  that  if  he  had  detained 
him  longer,  there  was  no  knowing  how  long  he 
might  be  in  paying  the  next  term’s  victual  stipend.” 

David  groaned  to  find  that  such  carnal  motives 
could  have  influence  upon  the  mind  of  a powerful 
preacher.  He  had,  indeed,  been  scandalized  by 
another  circumstance  during  the  service. 

So  soon  as  the  congregation  were  seated  after- 
prayers,  and  the  clergyman  had  read  his  text,  the 
gracious  Duncan,  after  rummaging  the  leathern 
purse  which  hung  in  front  of  his  petticoat,  pro- 
duced a short  tobacco-pipe  made  of  iron,  and  ob* 
served,  almost  aloud,  “ I hae  forgotten  my  spleuchan 
1 Note  III.  — Tolling  to  Service  in  Scotland. 


THE  HEART  OE  M1D-LOTIIIAN. 


303 


— Lachlan,  gang  down  to  the  Clachan,  and  bring 
me  up  a pennyworth  of  twist.”  Six  arms,  the 
nearest  within  reach,  presented,  with  an  obedient 
start,  as  many  tobacco-pouches  to  the  man  of 
office.  He  made  choice  of  one  with  a nod  of  ac- 
knowledgment, filled  his  pipe,  lighted  it  with  the 
assistance  of  his  pistol-flint,  and  smoked  with  infin- 
ite composure  during  the  whole  time  of  the  sermon. 
When  the  discourse  was  finished,  he  knocked  the 
ashes  out  of  his  pipe,  replaced  it  in  its  sporran, 
returned  the  tobacco  pouch  or  spleuchan  to  its 
owner,  and  joined  in  the  prayer  with  decency  and 
attention. 

At  the  end  of  the  service,  when  Butler  had  been 
admitted  minister  of  the  kirk  of  Knocktarlitie, 
with  all  its  spiritual  immunities  and  privileges, 
David,  who  had  frowned,  groaned,  and  murmured 
at  Knockdunder’s  irreverent  demeanour,  commu- 
nicated his  plain  thoughts  of  the  matter  to  Isaac 
Meiklehose,  one  of  the  elders,  with  whom  a rever- 
ential aspect  and  huge  grizzle  wig  had  especially 
disposed  him  to  seek  fraternization.  “ It  didna 
become  a wild  Indian,”  David  said,  “ much  less  a 
Christian,  and  a gentleman,  to  sit  in  the  kirk  puff- 
ing tobacco-reek,  as  if  he  were  in  a change-house.” 

Meiklehose  shook  his  head,  and  allowed  it  was 
“ far  frae  beseeming  — But  what  will  ye  say  ? The 
Captain’s  a queer  hand,  and  to  speak  to  him  about 
that  or  ony  thing  else  that  crosses  the  maggot,  wad 
be  to  set  the  kiln  a-low.  He  keeps  a high  hand 
ower  the  country,  and  we  couldna  deal  wi’  the 
Hielandmen  without  his  protection,  sin’  a’  the  keys 
o’  the  kintray  hings  at  his  belt ; and  he’s  no  an  ill 
body  in  the  main,  and  maistry,  ye  ken,  maws  the 
meadows  doun.” 


304 


TALES  0E  MY  LANDLORD. 


“ That  may  be  very  true,  neighbour ,”  said  David ; 

“ but  Reuben  Butler  isna  the  man  I take  him  to  be,  if 
he  disna  learn  the  Captain  to  fuff  his  pipe  some  other 
gate  than  in  God’s  house,  or  the  quarter  be  ower.” 

“Fair .and  softly  gangs  far,”  said  Meiklehose ; 

“ and  if  a fule  may  gie  a wise  man  a counsel,  I wad 
hae  him  think  twice  or  he  mells  wi’  Knockdunder 
— He  suld  hae  a lang-shankit  spune  that  wad  sup 
kail  wi’  the  deil.  But  they  are  a’  away  to  their  din- 
ner to  the  change-house,  and  if  we  dinna  mend  our 
pace,  we’ll  come  short  at  meal-time.” 

David  accompanied  his  friend  without  answer , 
but  began  to  feel  from  experience,  that  the  glen  of 
Knocktarlitie,  like  the  rest  of  the  world,  was  haunted 
by  its  own  special  subjects  of  regret  and  discon- 
tent. His  mind  was  so  much  occupied  by  con- 
sidering the  best  means  of  converting  Duncan  of 
Knock  to  a sense  of  reverent  decency  during  pub- 
lic worship,  that  he  altogether  forgot  to  enquire, 
whether  Butler  was  called  upon  to  subscribe  the 
oaths  to  government. 

Some  have  insinuated,  that  his  neglect  on  this 
head  was,  in  some  degree,  intentional ; but  I think 
this  explanation  inconsistent  with  the  simplicity 
of  my  friend  David’s  character.  Neither  have  I 
ever  been  able,  by  the  most  minute  enquiries,  to 
know  whether  the  formula,  at  which  he  so  much 
scrupled,  had  been  exacted  from  Butler,  aye  or  no.  1 
The  books  of  the  kirk-session  might  have  thrown  < 
some  light  on  this  matter ; but  unfortunately  they 
were  destroyed  in  the  year  1746,  by  one  Donacha 
Dhu  na  Dunaigh,  at  the  instance,  it  was  said,  or  at 
least  by  the  connivance,  of  the  gracious  Duncan  of 
Knock,  who  had  a desire  to  obliterate  the  recorded 
foibles  of  a certain  Kate  Finlay  son. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 


Now  butt  and  ben  the  change-house  fills 
Wi’  yill-caup  commentators,  — 

Here’s  crying  out  for  bakes  and  gills, 

And  there  the  pint-stoup  clatters. 

Wi’  thick  and  thrang,  and  loud  and  lang,  — 

Wi’  logic  and  wi’  scripture, 

They  raise  a din  that  in  the  end 
Is  like  to  breed  a rupture, 

O’  wrath  that  day. 

Burns. 

A plentiful  entertainment,  at  the  Duke  of  Ar« 
gyle’s  cost,  regaled  the  reverend  gentlemen  who 
had  assisted  at  the  ordination  of  Reuben  Butler, 
and  almost  all  the  respectable  part  of  the  parish. 
The  feast  was,  indeed,  such  as  the  country  itself 
furnished  ; for  plenty  of  all  the  requisites  for  “ a 
rough  and  round  ” dinner  were  always  at  Duncan 
of  Knock’s  command.  There  was  the  beef  and 
mutton  on  the  braes,  the  fresh  and  salt-water  fish 
in  the  lochs,  the  brooks,  and  frith  ; game  of  every 
kind,  from  the  deer  to  the  leveret,  were  to  be  had 
for  the  killing,  in  the  Duke’s  forests,  moors,  heaths, 
and  mosses  ; and  for  liquor,  home-brewed  ale  flowed 
as  freely  as  watei; ; brandy  and  usquebaugh  both 
were  had  in  those  happy  times  without  duty  ; even 
white  wine  and  claret  were  got  for  nothing,  since 
the  Duke’s  extensive  rights  of  admiralty  gave  him 
a title  to  all  the  wine  in  cask  which  is  drifted  ashore 
on  the  western  coast  and  isles  of  Scotland,  when 


306 


TALES  OE  MY  LANDLORD. 


shipping  have  suffered  by  severe  weather.  In  short, 
as  Duncan  boasted,  the  entertainment  did  not  cost 
MacCallummore  a plack  out  of  his  sporran,  and  was 
nevertheless  not  only  liberal,  but  overflowing. 

The  Duke's  health  was  solemnized  in  a bona 
fide  bumper,  and  David  Deans  himself  added  per 
haps  the  first  huzza  that  his  lungs  had  ever  uttered, 
to  swell  the  shout  with  which  the  pledge  was 
received.  Nay,  so  exalted  in  heart  was  he  upon 
this  memorable  occasion,  and  so.  much  disposed  to 
be  indulgent,  that  he  expressed  no  dissatisfaction 
when  three  bagpipers  struck  up,  “ The  Campbells 
are  coming.”  The  health  of  the  reverend  minister 
of  Knocktarlitie  was  received  with  similar  honours  ; 
and  there  was  a roar  of  laughter,  when  one  of  his 
brethren  slyly  subjoined  the  addition  of,  “ A good 
wife  to  our  brother,  to  keep  the  Manse  in  order.”  On 
this  occasion  David  Deans  was  delivered  of  his  first-  ' 
born  joke  ; and  apparently  the  parturition  was  ac- 
companied with  many  throes,  for  sorely  did  he  twist  i 
about  his  physiognomy,  and  much  did  he  stumble 
in  his  speech,  before  he  could  express  his  idea, 

“ That  the  lad  being  now  wedded  to  his  spiritual 
bride,  it  was  hard  to  threaten  him  with  ane  tem- 
poral spouse  in  the  same  day.”  He  then  laughed  a 
hoarse  and  brief  laugh,  and  was  suddenly  grave  and 
silent,  as  if  abashed  at  his  own  vivacious  effort. 

After  another  toast  or  two,  Jeanie,  Mrs.  Dolly, 
and  such  of  the  female  natives  as  had  honoured  the  * 
feast  with  their  presence,  retired  to  David’s  new 
dwelling  at  Auchingower,  and  left  the  gentlemen 
to  their  potations. 

The  feast  proceeded  with  great  glee.  The  con- 
versation, where  Duncan  had  it  under  his  direction, 
was  not  indeed  always  strictly  canonical,  but  David 


THE  HEART  OE  MID-LOTHIAN. 


307 


Deans  escaped  any  risk  of  being  scandalized,  by 
engaging  with  one  of  his  neighbours  in  a recapitu- 
lation of  the  sufferings  of  Ayrshire  and  Lanark- 
shire, during  what  was  called  the  invasion  of  the 
Highland  Host ; the  prudent  Mr.  Meiklehose  cau- 
tioning them  from  time  to  time  to  lower  their 
voices,  for  “ that  Duncan  Knock’s  father  had  been 
at  that  onslaught,  and  brought  back  muckle  gude 
plenishing,  and  that  Duncan  was  no  unlikely  to  hae 
been  there  himself,  for  what  he  kend.” 

Meanwhile,  as  the  mirth  grew  fast  and  furious, 
the  graver  members  of  the  party  began  to  escape 
as  well  as  they  could.  David  Deans  accomplished 
his  retreat,  and  Butler  anxiously  watched  an  op- 
portunity to  follow  him.  Knockdunder,  however, 
desirous,  he  said,  of  knowing  what  stuff  was  in  the 
new  minister,  had  no  intention  to  part  with  him  so 
easily,  but  kept  him  pinned  to  his  side,  watching 
him  sedulously,  and  with  obliging  violence  filling 
his  glass  to  the  brim,  as  often  as  he  could  seize  an 
opportunity  of  doing  so.  At  length,  as  the  even- 
ing was  wearing  late,  a venerable  brother  chanced 
to  ask  Mr.  Archibald  when  they  might  hope  to 
see  the  Duke  tam  carum  caput,  as  he  would  venture 
to  term  him,  at  the  Lodge  of  Eoseneath.  Duncan  of 
Knock,  whose  ideas  were  somewhat  conglomerated, 
and  who,  it  may  be  believed,  was  no  great  scholar, 
catching  up  some  imperfect  sound  of  the  words, 
conceived  the  speaker  was  drawing  a parallel  be- 
tween the  Duke  and  Sir  Donald  Gorme  of  Sleat; 
and  being  of  opinion  that  such  comparison  was 
odious,  snorted  thrice,  and  prepared  himself  to  be 
in  a passion. 

To  the  explanation  of  the  venerable  divine  the 
Captain  answered,  “I  heard  the  word  Gorme  my* 


308 


TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 


self,  sir,  with  my  ain  ears.  D’ye  think  I do  not 
know  Gaelic  from  Latin  ?” 

“ Apparently  not,  sir  ; ” — so  the  clergyman,  of- 
fended in  his  turn,  and  taking  a pinch  of  snuff, 
answered  with  great  coolness. 

The  copper  nose  of  the  gracious  Duncan  now 
became  heated  like  the  bull  of  Phalaris,  and  while 
Mr.  Archibald  mediated  betwixt  the  offended  par- 
ties, and  the  attention  of  the  company  was  engaged 
by  their  dispute,  Butler  took  an  opportunity  to 
effect  his  retreat. 

He  found  the  females  at  Auchingower,  very 
anxious  for  the  breaking  up  of  the  convivial  party ; 
for  it  was  a part  of  the  arrangement,  that  although 
David  Deans  was  to  remain  at  Auchingower,  and 
Butler  was  that  night  to  take  possession  of  the 
Manse,  yet  Jeanie,  for  whom  complete  accommo- 
dations were  not  yet  provided  in  her  father’s  house, 
was  to  return  for  a day  or  two  to  the  Lodge  at 
Roseneath,  and  the  boats  had  been  held  in  readi- 
ness accordingly.  They  waited,  therefore,  for 
Knockdunder’s  return,  but  twilight  came,  and  they 
still  waited  in  vain.  At  length  Mr.  Archibald,  who, 
as  a man  of  decorum,  had  taken  care  not  to  exceed 
in  his  conviviality,  made  his  appearance,  and  ad-  1 
vised  the  females  strongly  to  return  to  the  island 
under  his  escort ; observing,  that,  from  the  humour 
in  which  he  had  left  the  Captain,  it  was  a great 
chance  whether  he  budged  out  of  the  public-house  j 
that  night,  and  it  was  absolutely  certain  that  he 
would  not  be  very  fit  company  for  ladies.  The  gig 
was  at  their  disposal,  he  said,  and  there  was  still 
pleasant  twilight  for  a party  on  the  water. 

Jeanie,  who  had  considerable  confidence  in  Ar- 
chibald’s prudence,  immediately  acquiesced  in  this 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN  309 

proposal ; but  Mrs.  Dolly  positively  objected  to  the 
small  boat.  If  the  big  boat  could  be  gotten,  she 
agreed  to  set  out,  otherwise  she  would  sleep  on  the 
floor,  rather  than  stir  a step.  Reasoning  with  Dolly 
was  out  of  the  question,  and  Archibald  did  not 
think  the  difficulty  so  pressing  as  to  require  com- 
pulsion. He  observed,  it  was  not  using  the  Captain 
very  politely  to  deprive  him  of  his  coach  and  six  ; 
“ but  as  it  was  in  the  ladies’  service,”  he  gallantly 
said,  “ he  would  use  so  much  freedom  — besides  the 
gig  would  serve  the  Captain’s  purpose  better,  as  it 
could  come  off  at  any  hour  of  the  tide  ; the  large 
boat  should,  therefore,  be  at  Mrs.  Dolly’s  service.” 

They  walked  to  the  beach  accordingly,  accom- 
panied by  Butler.  It  was  some  time  before  the 
boatmen  could  be  assembled,  and  ere  they  were  well 
embarked,  and  ready  to  depart,  the  pale  moon  was 
come  over  the  hill,  and  flinging  a trembling  reflec- 
tion on  the  broad  and  glittering  waves.  But  so 
soft  and  pleasant  was  the  night,  that  Butler,  in  bid- 
ding farewell  to  Jeanie,  had  no  apprehension  for 
her  safety;  and,  what  is  yet  more  extraordinary, 
Mrs.  Dolly  felt  no  alarm  for  her  own.  The  air  was 
soft,  and  came  over  the  cooling  wave  with  some- 
thing of  summer  fragrance.  The  beautiful  scene 
of  headlands,  and  capes,  and  bays,  around  them, 
with  the  broad  blue  chain  of  mountains,  were  dimly 
visible  in  the  moonlight ; while  every  dash  of  the 
oars  made  the  waters  glance  and  sparkle  with  the 
brilliant  phenomenon  called  the  sea  fire. 

This  last  circumstance  filled  Jeanie  with  wonder, 
and  served  to  amuse  the  mind  of  her  companion, 
until  they  approached  the  little  bay,  which  seemed 
to  stretch  its  dark  and  wooded  arms  into  the  sea  as 
if  to  welcome  them. 


3io 


TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 


The  usual  landing-place  was  at  a quarter  of  a 
mile’s  distance  from  the  Lodge,  and  although  the 
tide  did  not  admit  of  the  large  boat  coming  quite 
close  to  the  jetty  of  loose  stones  which  served  as  a 
pier,  Jeanie,  who  was  both  bold  and  active,  easily 
sprung  ashore  ; but  Mrs.  Dolly  positively  refusing 
to  commit  herself  to  the  same  risk,  the  complaisant 
Mr.  Archibald  ordered  the  boat  round  to  a more 
regular  landing-place,  at  a considerable  distance 
along  the  shore.  He  then  prepared  to  land  him- 
self, that  he  might,  in  the  meanwhile,  accompany 
Jeanie  to  the  Lodge.  But  as  there  was  no  mistak- 
ing the  woodland  lane,  which  led  from  thence  to 
the  shore,  and  as  the  moonlight  showed  her  one  of 
the  white  chimneys  rising  out  of  the  wood  which 
embosomed  the  building,  Jeanie  declined  this  favour 
with  thanks,  and  requested  him  to  proceed  with  Mrs. 
Dolly,  who,  being  “ in  a country  where  the  ways 
were  strange  to  her,  had  mair  need  of  countenance.” 

This,  indeed,  was  a fortunate  circumstance,  and 
might  even  be*  said  to  save  poor  Cowslip’s  life,  if  it 
was  true,  as  she  herself  used  solemnly  to  aver,  that 
she  must  positively  have  expired  for  fear,  if  she 
had  been  left  alone  in  the  boat  with  six  wild  High- 
landers in  kilts. 

The  night  was  so  exquisitely  beautiful,  that 
Jeanie,  instead  of  immediately  directing  her  course  \ 
towards  the  Lodge,  stood  looking  after  the  boat  as 
it  again  put  off  from  the  side,  and  rowed  out  into  j 
the  little  bay,  the  dark  figures  of  her  companions 
growing  less  and  less  distinct  as  they  diminished 
in  the  distance,  and  the  jorram,  or  melancholy  boat- 
song  of  the  rowers,  coming  on  the  ear  with  soft- 
ened and  sweeter  sound,  until  the  boat  rounded  the 
headland,  and  was  lost  to  her  observation. 


THE  HEART  OE  MID-LOTHIAN.  31 1 

Still  Jeanie  remained  in  the  same  posture,  look- 
ing out  upon  the  sea.  It  would,  she  was  aware, 
be  some  time  ere  her  companions  could  reach  the 
Lodge,  as  the  distance  by  the  more  convenient 
landing-place  was  considerably  greater  than  from 
the  point  where  she  stood,  and  she  was  not  sorry 
to  have  an  opportunity  to  spend  the  interval  by 
herself. 

The  wonderful  change  which  a few  weeks  had 
wrought  in  her  situation,  from  shame  and  grief, 
and  almost  despair,  to  honour,  joy,  and  a fair  pro- 
spect of  future  happiness,  passed  before  her  eyes 
with  a sensation  which  brought  the  tears  into  them. 
Yet  they  flowed  at  the  same  time  from  another 
source.  As  human  happiness  is  never  perfect,  and 
as  well-constructed  minds  are  never  more  sensible 
of  the  distresses  of  those  whom  they  love,  than 
when  their  own  situation  forms  a contrast  with 
them,  Jeanie’s  affectionate  regrets  turned  to  the 
fate  of  her  poor  sister  - — the  child  of  so  many  hopes 
— the  fondled  nursling  of  so  many  years  — now  an 
exile,  and,  what  was  worse,  dependent  on  the  will 
of  a man,  of  whose  habits  she  had  every  reason  to 
entertain  the  worst  opinion,  and  who,  even  in  his 
strongest  paroxysms  of  remorse,  had  appeared  too 
much  a stranger  to  the  feelings  of  real  penitence. 

While  her  thoughts  were  occupied  with  these 
melancholy  reflections,  a shadowy  figure  seemed  to 
detach  itself  from  the  copsewood  on  her  right-hand. 
Jeanie  started,  and  the  stories  of  apparitions  and 
wraiths,  seen  by  solitary  travellers  in  wild  situa- 
tions, at  such  times,  and  in  such  an  hour,  suddenly 
came  full  upon  her  imagination.  The  figure  glided 
on,  and  as  it  came  betwixt  her  and  the  moon,  she 
was  aware  that  it  had  the  appearance  of  a woman 


312 


TALES  OE  MY  LANDLORD. 


A soft  voice  twice  repeated,  “ Jeanie  — Jeanie  ! ” — 
Was  it  indeed  — could  it  be  the  voice  of  her  sister  ? 
— -Was  she  still  among  the  living,  or  had  the  grave 
given  up  its  tenant  ? — Ere  she  could  state  these 
questions  to  her  own  mind,  Effie,  alive,  and  in  the 
body,  had  clasped  her  in  her  arms,  and  was  strain- 
ing her  to  her  bosom,  and  devouring  her  with  kisses. 
“ I have  wandered  here/’  she  said,  “ like  a ghaist, 
to  see  you,  and  nae  wonder  you  take  me  for  ane  — 
I thought  but  to  see  you  gang  by,  or  to  hear  the 
sound  of  your  voice  ; but  to  speak  to  yoursell  again, 
Jeanie,  was  mair  than  I deserved,  and  mair  than 
I durst  pray  for.” 

“ 0,  Effie ! how  came  ye  here  alone,  and  at  this 
hour,  and  on  the  wild  sea-beach  ? — Are  you  sure 
it’s  your  ain  living  sell  ? ” 

There  was  something  of  Effie’s  former  humour 
in  her  practically  answering  the  question  by  a 
gentle  pinch,  more  beseeming  the  fingers  of  a fairy 
than  of  a ghost.  And  again  the  sisters  embraced, 
and  laughed,  and  wept  by  turns. 

“ But  ye  maun  gang  up  wi’  me  to  the  Lodge, 
Effie,”  said  Jeanie,  “ and  tell  me  a’  your  story  — I 
hae  gude  folk  there  that  will  make  ye  welcome  for 
my  sake.” 

“Na,  na,  Jeanie,”  replied  her  sister  sorrowfully, 

— “ ye  hae  forgotten  what  I am  — a banished  out- 
lawed creature,  scarce  escaped  the  gallows  by  your 
being  the  bauldest  and  the  best  sister  that  ever 
lived  — I’ll  gae  near  nane  o’  your  grand  friends, 
even  if  there  was  nae  danger  to  me.” 

“ There  is  nae  danger  — there  shall  be  nae  dan- 
ger/’ said  Jeanie  eagerly.  “ 0,  Effie,  dinna  be  wilfu’ 

— be  guided  for  anes  — we  will  be  sae  happy  a' 
^hegither ! ” 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN. 


3i3 


“ I have  a’  the  happiness  I deserve  on  this  side 
of  the  grave,  now  that  I hae  seen  you,”  answered 
Effie ; “ and  whether  there  were  danger  to  mysell 
or  no,  naebody  shall  ever  say  that  I come  with  my 
cheat-the-gallows  face  to  shame  my  sister  amang 
her  grand  friends.” 

“ I hae  nae  grand  friends,”  said  Jeanie  ; “ nae 
friends  but  what  are  friends  of  yours  — Reuben 
Butler  and  my  father.  — 0,  unhappy  lassie,  dinna 
be  dour,  and  turn  your  back  on  your  happiness 
again  ! We  wunna  see  another  acquaintance  — 
Come  hame  to  us,  your  ain  dearest  friends  — it’s 
better  sheltering  under  an  auld  hedge  than  under  a 
new-planted  wood.” 

“It's  in  vain  speaking,  Jeanie  — I maun  drink 
as  I hae  brewed  — I am  married,  and  I maun  fol- 
low my  husband  for  better  for  worse.” 

“ Married,  Effie  ! ” exclaimed  Jeanie  — “ Misfor- 
tunate  creature  ! and  to  that  awfu ” 

“ Hush,  hush,”  said  Effie,  clapping  one  hand  on 
her  mouth,  and  pointing  to  the  thicket  with  the 
other,  “ he  is  yonder.” 

She  said  this  in  a tone  which  showed  that  her 
husband  had  found  means  to  inspire  her  with  awe, 
as  well  as  affection.  At  this  moment  a man  issued 
from  the  wood. 

It  was  young  Staunton.  Even  by  the  imperfect 
light  of  the  moon,  Jeanie  could  observe  that  he  was 
handsomely  dressed,  and  had  the  air  of  a person  of 
rank. 

“ Effie,”  he  said,  “ our  time  is  wellnigh  spent  — 
the  skiff  will  be  aground  in  the  creek,  and  I dare 
not  stay  longer.  — I hope  your  sister  will  allow  me 
to  salute  her  ?”  But  Jeanie  shrunk  back  from  him 
with  a feeling  of  internal  abhorrence.  “ Well,”  he 


314  TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD 

said,  “ it  does  not  much  signify ; if  you  keep  up  the 
feeling  of  ill-will,  at  least  you  do  not  act  upon  it, 
and  I thank  you  for  your  respect  to  my  secret, 
when  a word  (which  in  your  place  I would  have 
spoken  at  once)  would  have  cost  me  my  life.  Peo- 
ple say,  you  should  keep  from  the  wife  of  your 
bosom  the  secret  that  concerns  your  neck  — my 
wife  and  her  sister  both  know  mine,  and  I shall  not 
sleep  a wink  the  less  sound.” 

“ But  are  you  really  married  to  nly  sister,  sir  ? ” 
asked  J eanie,  in  great  doubt  and  anxiety ; for  the 
haughty,  careless  tone  in  which  he  spoke  seemed 
to  justify  her  worst  apprehensions. 

“I  really  am  legally  married,  and  by  my  own 
name,”  replied  Staunton,  more  gravely. 

“ And  your  father  — and  your  friends  ? ” — 

‘‘And  my  father  and  my  friends  must  just  re- 
concile themselves  to  that  which  is  done  and  can-  < 
not  be  undone  ” replied  Staunton.  “ However,  it 
is  my  intention,  in  order  to  break  off  dangerous  i 
connexions,  and  to  let  my  friends  come  to  their 
temper,  to  conceal  my  marriage  for  the  present,  and 
stay  abroad  for  some  years.  So  that  you  will  not 
hear  of  us  for  some  time,  if  ever  you  hear  of  us 
again  at  all.  It  would  be  dangerous,  you  must  be 
aware,  to  keep  up  the  correspondence  ; for  all  would 
guess  that  the  husband  of  Effie  was  the  — - what 
shall  I call  myself  ? — the  slayer  of  Porteous  ” 
Hard-hearted  light  man!  thought  Jeanie — to 
what  a character  she  has  intrusted  her  happiness  ! 

— She  has  sown  the  wind,  and  maun  reap  the 
whirlwind. 

“Dinna  think  ill  o’  him,”  said  Effie,  breaking 
away  from  her  husband,  and  leading  Jeanie  a step 
or  two  out  of  hearing,  — “ dinna  think  very  ill  o' 


THE  HEART  OE  MID-LOTHIAN.  315 

him  — he’s  gude  to  me,  Jeanie  — as  gude  as  I 
deserve  — And  he  is  determined  to  gie  up  his  bad 
courses  — Sae,  after  a’,  dinna  greet  for  Effie  ; she  is 
better  off  than  she  has  wrought  for.  — But  you  — 
0 you  ! — how  can  you  be  happy  eneugh  ! — never 
till  ye  get  to  Heaven,  where  a’body  is  as  gude  as 
yoursell.  — Jeanie,  if  I live  and  thrive,  ye  shall  hear 
of  me  — if  not,  just  forget  that  sic  a creature  ever 
lived  to  vex  ye  — fare  ye  weel  — fare  — fare  ye 
weel ! ” 

She  tore  herself  from  her  sister’s  arms  — rejoined 
her  husband  — they  plunged  into  the  copsewood, 
and  she  saw  them  no  more.  The  whole  scene  had 
the  effect  of  a vision,  and  she  could  almost  have  be- 
lieved it  such,  but  that  very  soon  after  they  quitted 
her,  she  heard  the  sound  of  oars,  and  a skiff  was 
seen  on  the  Frith,  pulling  swiftly  towards  the  small 
smuggling  sloop  which  lay  in  the  offing.  It  was  on 
board  of  such  a vessel  that  Effie  had  embarked  at 
Portobello,  and  Jeanie  had  no  doubt  that  the  same 
conveyance  was  destined,  as  Staunton  had  hinted, 
to  transport  them  to  a foreign  country. 

Although  it  was  impossible  to  determine  whether 
this  interview,  while  it  was  passing,  gave  more  pain 
or  pleasure  to  Jeanie  Deans,  yet  the  ultimate  im- 
pression which  remained  on  her  mind  was  decidedly 
favourable.  Effie  was  married  — made,  according 
to  the  common  phrase,  an  honest  woman  — that 
was  one  main  point ; it  seemed  also  as  if  her  hus- 
band were  about  to  abandon  the  path  of  gross  vice, 
in  which  he  had  run  so  long  and  so  desperately  — 
that  was  another  ; — for  his  final  and  effectual  con- 
version, he  did  not  want  understanding,  and  God 
knew  his  own  hour. 

Such  were  the  thoughts  with  which  Jeanie  endea- 


316  TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 

voured  to  console  her  anxiety  respecting  her  sister’s 
future  fortune.  On  her  arrival  at  the  Lodge,  she 
found  Archibald  in  some  anxiety  at  her  stay,  and 
about  to  walk  out  in  quest  of  hen  A headache 
served  as  an  apology  for  retiring  to  rest,  in  order 
to  conceal  her  visible  agitation  of  mind  from  her 
companions. 

By  this  secession  also,  she  escaped  another  scene 
of  a different  sort.  For,  as  if  there  were  danger  in 
all  gigs,  whether  by  sea  or  land,  that  of  Knock- 
dunder  had  been  run  down  by  another  boat,  an 
accident  owing  chiefly  to  the  drunkenness  of  the 
captain,  his  crew,  and  passengers.  Knockdunder, 
and  two  or  three  guests,  whom  he  was  bringing 
along  with  him  to  finish  the  conviviality  of  the 
evening  at  the  Lodge,  got  a sound  ducking ; but, 
being  rescued  by  the  crew  of  the  boat  which  en- 
dangered them,  there  was  no  ultimate  loss,  except- 
ing that  of  the  Captain’s  laced  hat,  which,  greatly  % 
to  the  satisfaction  of  the  Highland  part  of  the  dis- 
trict, as  well  as  to  the  improvement  of  the  conform- 
ity of  his  own  personal  appearance,  he  replaced  by 
a smart  Highland  bonnet  next  day.  Many  were 
the  vehement  threats  of  vengeance  which,  on  the 
succeeding  morning,  the  gracious  Duncan  threw  out 
against  the  boat  which  had  upset  him ; but  as  j 
neither  she,  nor  the  small  smuggling  vessel  to  \ 
which  she  belonged,  was  any  longer  to  be  seen  in 
the  Frith,  he  was  compelled  to  sit  down  with  the  j 
affront.  This  was  the  more  hard,  he  said,  as  he  was 
assured  the  mischief  was  done  on  purpose,  these 
scoundrels  having  lurked  about  after  they  had 
landed  every  drop  of  brandy,  and  every  bag  of  tea 
they  had  on  board ; and  he  understood  the  cox- 
swain had  been  on  shore,  making  particular  en= 


THE  HEART  OE  MID-LOTHIAN.  317 

quiries  concerning  the  time  when  his  boat  was  to 
cross  over,  and  to  return,  and  so  forth. 

“ Put  the  neist  time  they  meet  me  on  the  Frith,” 
said  Duncan,  with  great  majesty,  44 1 will  teach  the 
moonlight  rapscallions  and  vagabonds  to  keep  their 
ain  side  of  the  road,  and  be  tamn?d  to  them ! ” 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 


Lord ! who  would  live  turmoiled  in  a court. 

And  may  enjoy  such  quiet  walks  as  these  ? 

Shakspeare, 

Within  a reasonable  time  after  Butler  was  safely 
and  comfortably  settled  in  his  living,  and  Jeanie 
had  taken  up  her  abode  at  Auchingower  with  her 
father,  — the  precise  extent  of  which  interval  we 
request  each  reader  to  settle  according  to  his  own 
sense  of  what  is  decent  and  proper  upon  the  occa- 
sion, — » and  after  due  proclamation  of  bans,  and  all 
other  formalities,  the  long  wooing  of  this  worthy 
pair  was  ended  by  their  union  in  the  holy  bands  of 
matrimony.  On  this  occasion,  David  Deans  stoutly 
withstood  the  iniquities  of  pipes,  fiddles,  and  pro- 
miscuous dancing,  to  the  great  wrath  of  the  Captain 
of  Knockdunder,  who  said,  if  he  “had  guessed  it 
was  to  be  sic  a tamn’d  Quakers’  meeting,  he  wad 
hae  seen  them  peyont  the  cairn  before  he  wad  hae 
darkened  their  doors,” 

And  so  much  rancour  remained  on  the  spirits  of 
the  gracious  Duncan  upon  this  occasion,  that  vari- 
ous “ picqueerings,”  as  David  called  them,  took 
place  upon  the  same  and  similar  topics ; and  it  was 
only  in  consequence  of  an  accidental  visit  of  the 
Duke  to  his  Lodge  at  Roseneath,  that  they  were 
put  a stop  to.  But  upon  that  occasion  his  Grace 
showed  such  particular  respect  to  Mr,  and  Mrs. 
Butler,  and  such  favour  even  to  old  David,  that 


THE  HEART  OE  MID-LOTHIAN. 


3T9 


Knockdunder  held  it  prudent  to  change  his  course 
towards  the  latter,  lie,  in  future,  used  to  express 
himself  among  friends,  concerning  the  minister  and 
his  wife,  as  “very  worthy  decent  folk,  just  a little 
over  strict  in  their  notions ; put  it  was  pest  for  thae 
plack  cattle  to  err  on  the  safe  side.”  And  respect- 
ing David,  he  allowed  that  “ he  was  an  excellent 
judge  of  nowte  and  sheep,  and  a sensible  eneugh 
carle,  an  it  werena  for  his  tamn’d  Cameronian  non- 
sense, whilk  it  is  not  worth  while  of  a shentleman 
to  knock  out  of  an  auld  silly  head,  either  by  force 
of  reason,  or  otherwise.”  So  that,  by  avoiding 
topics  of  dispute,  the  personages  of  our  tale  lived  in 
great  good  habits  with  the  gracious  Duncan,  only 
that  he  still  grieved  David’s  soul,  and  set  a perilous 
example  to  the  congregation,  by  sometimes  bringing 
his  pipe  to  the  church  during  a cold  winter-day, 
and  almost  always  sleeping  during  sermon  in  the 
summer-time. 

Mrs.  Butler,  whom  we  must  no  longer,  if  we  can 
help  it,  term  by  the  familiar  name  of  Jeanie,  brought 
into  the  married  state  the  same  firm  mind  and  affec- 
tionate disposition,  — the  same  natural  and  homely 
good  sense,  and  spirit  of  useful  exertion,  — in  a 
word,  all  the  domestic  good  qualities  of  which  she 
had  given  proof  during  her  maiden  life.  She  did 
not  indeed  rival  Butler  in  learning;  but  then  no 
woman  more  devoutly  venerated  the  extent  of  her 
husband’s  erudition.  She  did  not  pretend  to  under- 
stand his  expositions  of  divinity ; but  no  minister 
of  the  presbytery  had  his  humble  dinner  so  well 
arranged,  his  clothes  and  linen  in  equal  good  order, 
his  fireside  so  neatly  swept,  his  parlour  so  clean, 
and  his  books  so  well  dusted. 

If  he  talked  to  Jeanie  of  what  she  did  not  under- 


320 


TALES  0E  MY  LANDLORD. 


stand,  - - and  (for  the  man  was  mortal,  and  had 
been  a schoolmaster)  he  sometimes  did  harangue 
more  scholarly  and  wisely  than  was  necessary, — 
she  listened  in  placid  silence ; and  whenever  the 
point  referred  to  common  life,  and  was  such  as 
came  under  the  grasp  of  a strong  natural  under- 
standing, her  views  were  more  forcible,  and  her  ob- 
servations more  acute,  than  his  own.  In  acquired 
politeness  of  manners,  when  it  happened  that  she 
mingled  a little  in  society,  Mrs,  Butler  was,  of 
course,  judged  deficient.  But  then  she  had  that 
obvious  wish  to  oblige,  and  that  real  and  natural 
good-breeding  depending  on  good  sense  and  good- 
humour,  which,  joined  to  a considerable  degree  of 
archness  and  liveliness  of  manner,  rendered  her 
behaviour  acceptable  to  all  with  whom  she  was  t 
called  upon  to  associate.  Notwithstanding  her 
strict  attention  to  all  domestic  affairs,  she  always  j 
appeared  the  clean  well-dressed  mistress  of  the 
house,  never  the  sordid  household  drudge.  When  j 
complimented  on  this  occasion  by  Duncan  Knock,  < 
who  swore,  “ that  he  thought  the  fairies  must  help 
her,  since  her  house  was  always  clean,  and  nobody 
ever  saw  any  body  sweeping  it,”  she  modestly 
replied,  “That  much  might  be  dune  by  timing  j 
ane’s  turns.” 

Duncan  replied,  “He  heartily  wished  she  could  '} 
teach  that  art  to  the  huzzies  at  the  Lodge,  for  he 
could  never  discover  that  the  house  was  washed  at  I 
a’,  except  now  and  then  by  breaking  his  shins  over 
the  pail  — Cot  tamn  the  jauds  ! ” 

Of  lesser  matters  there  is  not  occasion  to  speak 
much.  It  may  easily  be  believed  that  the  Duke’s 
cheese  was  carefully  made,  and  so  graciously  ac-  j 
cepted,  that  the  offering  became  annual.  Remem- 


THE  HEART  OE  MID-LOTHIAN. 


321 


brances  and  acknowledgments  of  past  favours  were 
sent  to  Mrs.  Bickerton  and  Mrs.  Glass,  and  an  ami- 
cable intercourse  maintained  from  time  to  time  with 
these  two  respectable  and  benevolent  persons. 

It  is  especially  necessary  to  mention,  that,  in  the 
course  of  five  years,  Mrs.  Butler  had  three  children, 
two  boys  and  a girl,  all  stout  healthy  babes  of  grace, 
fair-haired,  blue-eyed,  and  strong-limbed.  The 
boys  were  named  David  and  Reuben,  an  order  of 
nomenclature  which  was  much  to  the  satisfaction 
of  the  old  hero  of  the  Covenant,  and  the  girl,  by 
her  mother’s  special  desire,  was  christened  Euphe- 
mia,  rather  contrary  to  the  wish  both  of  her  father 
and  husband,  who  nevertheless  loved  Mrs.  Butler 
too  well,  and  were  too  much  indebted  to  her  for 
their  hours  of  happiness,  to  withstand  any  request 
which  she  made  with  earnestness,  and  as  a gratifi- 
cation to  herself.  But  from  some  feeling,  I know 
not  of  what  kind,  the  child  was  never  distinguished 
by  the  name  of  Effie,  but  by  the  abbreviation  of 
Femie,  which  in  Scotland  is  equally  commonly 
applied  to  persons  called  Euphemia. 

In  this  state  of  quiet  and  unostentatious  enjoy- 
ment, there  were,  besides  the  ordinary  rubs  and 
ruffles  which  disturb  even  the  most  uniform  life, 
two  things  which  particularly  chequered  Mrs.  But- 
ler’s happiness.  “ Without  these,”  she  said  to  our 
informer,  “ Her  life  would  have  been  but  too  happy ; 
and  perhaps,”  she  added,  “ she  had  need  of  some 
crosses  in  this  world  to  remind  her  that  there  was 
a better  to  come  behind  it.” 

The  first  of  these  related  to  certain  polemical 
skirmishes  betwixt  her  father  and  her  husband, 
which,  notwithstanding  the  mutual  respect  and  af- 
fection they  entertained  for  each  other,  and  their 


322 


TALES  OE  MY  LANDLORD. 


great  love  for  her,  — notwithstanding  also  their 
general  agreement  in  strictness,  and  even  severity, 
of  presbyterian  principle,  — often  threatened  un- 
pleasant weather  between  them.  David  T)eftnsL_a,R 
our  readers  must  be  aware,  was  sufficiently  opinion- 
ative  and  intractable,  and  having  prevailed  on  him- 


self to  become  a member  of  a kirk-session  under  the 


established  church,  he  felt  doubly  obliged  to  evince, 
that,  in  so  doing,  he  had  not  compromised  any  whit 
oh~his^‘  former  professions,  either  in  practice  or  prin- 
ciple. Now  Mr.  Butler,  doing  all  credit  to  his 
father-in-law’s  motives,  was  frequently  of  opinion 
that  it  were  bettor  to  drop  out  of  memory  points 
of  division  and  separation,  and  to  act  in  the  man- 


ner most  likely  to  attract  and  unite  all  parties  who 
were  serious  in  religion.  Moreover,  her  was  not 
pleased,  as  a man  and  a scholar,  to  be  always  dic- 
tated to  by  his  unlettered  father-in-law  ; and  as  a 
clergyman,  he  did  not  think  it  fit  to  seem  for  ever 
under  the  thumb  of  an  elder  of  his  own  kirk-ses- 
sion, A proud  but  honest  thought  carried  his  op- 
position now  and  then  a little  farther  than  it  would 
otherwise  have  gone.  “ My  brethren,”  he  said, 
“ will  suppose  I am  flattering  and  conciliating  the 
old  man  for  the  sake  of  his  succession,  if  1 defer 
and  give  way  to  him  on  every  occasion  ; and,  be- 
sides, there  are  many  on  which  I neither  can  nor 
will  conscientiously  yield  to  his  notion^.  I cannot 
be  persecuting  old  women  for  witches,  or  ferreting 
out  matter  of  scandal  among  the  young  ones,  which 
might  otherwise  have  remained  concealed.” 

From  this  difference  of  opinion  it  happened,  that, 
in  many  cases  of  nicety,  such  as  in  owning  certain 
defections,  and  failing  to  testify  against  certain 
backslidings  of  the  time,  in  not  always  severely 


TILE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN. 


323 


bracing  forth  little  matters  of  scandal  and  fama 
clamosa , which  David  called  a loosening  of  the  reins 
of  discipline,  and  in  failing  to  demand  clear  testi- 
monies in  other  points  of  controversy  which  had, 
as  it  were,  drifted  to  leeward  with  the  change  of 
times,  Butler  incurred  the  censure  of  his  father-in- 
law  ; and  sometimes  the  disputes  betwixt  them  be- 
came eager  and  almost  unfriendly.  In  all  such  cases 
Mrs.  Butler  was  a mediating  spirit,  who  endeav- 
oured, by  the  alkaline  smoothness  of  her  own  dispo- 
sition, to  neutralize  the  acidity  of  theological  con- 
troversy. To  the  complaints  of  both  she  lent  an 
unprejudiced  and  attentive  ear,  and  sought  always 
rather  to  excuse  than  absolutely  to  defend  the  other 
party. 

She  reminded  her  father  that  Butler  had  not 
“his  experience  of  the  auld  and  wrastling  times, 
when  folk  were  gifted  wF  a far  look  into  eternity, 
to  make  up  for  the  oppressions  whilk  they  suffered 
here  below  in  time.  She  freely  allowed  that  many 
devout  ministers  and  professors  in  times  past  had 
enjoyed  downright  revelation,  like  the  blessed 
Peden,  and  Lundie,  and  Cameron,  and  Renwick, 
and  John  Caird  the  tinkler,  wha  entered  into  the 
secrets,  and  Elizabeth  Melvil,  Lady  Culross,  wha 
prayed  in  her  bed,  surrounded  by  a great  many 
Christians  in  a large  room,  in  whilk  it  was  placed 
on  purpose,  and  that  for  three  hours3  time,  with 
wonderful  assistance  ; and  Lady  Robertland,  whilk 
got  six  sure  outgates  of  grace,  and  rnony  other  in 
times  past ; and  of  a specialty,  Mr.  John  Scrim- 
geour,  minister  of  Kinghorn,  who,  having  a beloved 
child  sick  to  death  of  the  crewels,  was  free  to 
expostulate  with  his  Maker  with  such  impatience 
of  displeasure,  and  complaining  so  bitterly,  that  at 


324 


TALES  0 E MY  LANDLORD. 


length  it  was  said  unto  him,  that  he  was  heard  for 
this  time,  but  that  he  was  requested  to  use  no  such 
boldness  in  time  coming ; so  that,  when  he  re- 
turned, he  found  the  child  sitting  up  in  the  bed  hale 
and  fair,  with  all  its  wounds  closed,  and  supping 
its  parritch,  whilk  babe  he  had  left  at  the  time  of 
death.  But  though  these  things  might  be  true  in 
these  needful  times,  she  contended  that  those 
ministers  who  had  not  seen  such  vouchsafed  and 
especial  mercies,  were  to  seek  their  rule  in  the 
records  of  ancient  times  ; and  therefore  Reuben  was 
carefu’  both  to  search  the  Scriptures  and  the  books 
written  by  wise  and  good  men  of  old; -and  some- 
times in  this  way  it  wad  happen  that  twa  precious 
saints  might  pu’  sundry  wise,  like  twa  cows  riving 
at  the  same  hay-band.” 

To  this  David  used  to  reply,  with  a sigh,  “ Ah, 
hinny,  thou  kenn’st  little  o’t ; but  that  saam  John 
Scrimgeour,  that  blew  open  the  gates  of  heaven  as 
an  it  had  been  wi’  a sax-pund  cannon-ball,  used  de- 
voutly to  wish  that  most  part  of  books  were  burnt, 
except  the  Bible.  Reuben’s  a gude  lad  and  a kind 
— I have  aye  allowed  that ; but  as  to  his  not  allow- 
ing enquiry  anent  the  scandal  of  Margery  Kittle- 
sides  and  Rory  MacRand,  under  pretence  that  they 
have  southered  sin  wi’  marriage,  it's  clear  agane  the 
Christian  discipline  o’  the  kirk.  And  then  there’s 
Aily  MacClure  of  Deepheugh,  that  practises  her 
abominations,  spaeing  folks’  fortunes  wi’  egg-shells, 
and  mutton-banes,  and  dreams  and  divinations, 
whilk  is  a scandal  to  ony  Christian  land  to  suffer 
sic  a wretch  to  live  ; and  I’ll  uphaud  that,  in  a’ 
judicatures,  civil  or  ecclesiastical.” 

“ I daresay  ye  are  very  right,  father,”  was  the 
general  style  of  Jeanie’s  answer ; * but  ye  maun 


THE  HEART  OE  MID-LOTHIAN. 


325 


come  down  to  the  Manse  to  your  dinner  the  day. 
The  bits  o’  bairns,  puir  things,  are  wearying  to  see 
their  luckie-dad ; and  Reuben  never  sleeps  weel,  nor 
I neither,  when  you  and  he  hae  had  ony  bit  out- 
cast. 

“ Nae  outcast,  Jeanie ; God  forbid  I suld  cast 
out  wi’  thee,  or  aught  that  is  dear  to  thee  ! ” And 
he  put  on  his  Sunday’s  coat,  and  came  to  the  Manse 
accordingly. 

With  her  husband,  Mrs.  Butler  had  a more  di- 
rect conciliatory  process.  Reuben had the  utmost 

respect  for  the  old  man’s  motives,  and  affection  for 
his  person,  as  well  as  gratitude  for  his  early  friend- 
shiprH  So  that,  upon  any  such  occasion  of  accidental 
irritation,  it  was  only  necessary  to  remind  him  with 
delicacy  of  his  father-in-law’s  age,  of  his  scanty 
education,  strong  prejudices,  and  family  distresses. 
The  least  of  these  considerations  always  inclined 
Butler  to  measures  of  conciliation,  in  so  far  as  he 
could  accede  to  them  without  compromising  prin- 
ciple ; and  thus  our  simple  and  unpretending 
heroine  had  the  merit  of  those  peace-makers,  to 
whom  it  is  pronounced  as  a benediction,  that  they 
shall  inherit  the  earth. 

The  second  crook  in  Mrs.  Butler’s  lot,  to  use 
the  language  of  her  father,  was  the  distressing  cir- 
cumstance, that  she  had  never  heard  of  her  sister’s 
safety,  or  of  the  circumstances  in  which  she  found 
herself,  though  betwixt  four  and  five  years  had 
elapsed  since  they  had  parted  on  the  beach  of  the 
island  of  Roseneath.  Frequent  intercourse  was  not 
to  be  expected  — not  to  be  desired,  perhaps,  in  their 
relative  situations ; but  Effie  had  promised,  that, 
if  she  lived  and  prospered,  her  sister  should  hear 
from  her.  She  must  then  be  no  more,  or  sunk  into 


326 


TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 


some  abyss  of  misery,  since  she  had  never  redeemed 
her  pledge.  Her  silence  seemed  strange  and  por- 
tentous, and  wrung  from  Jeanie,  who  could  never 
forget  the  early  years  of  their  intimacy,  the  most 
painful  anticipation  concerning  her  fate.  At  length, 
however,  the  veil  was  drawn  aside. 

One  day,  as  the  Captain  of  Knockdunder  had 
called  in  at  the  Manse,  on  his  return  from  some 
business  in  the  Highland  part  of  the  parish,  and 
had  been  accommodated,  according  to  his  special 
request,  with  a mixture  of  milk,  brandy,  honey, 
and  water,  which  he  said  Mrs.  Butler  compounded 
“ petter  than  ever  a woman  in  Scotland,3 ” — for,  in 
all  innocent  matters,  she  studied  the  taste  of  every 
one  around  her,  — he  said  to  Butler,  “ Py  the  py, 
minister,  I have  a letter  here  either  for  your  canny 
pody  of  a wife  or  you,  which  I got  when  I was  last 
at  Glasco;  the  postage  comes  to  fourpence,  which 
you  may  either  pay  me  forthwith,  or  give  me  tooble 
or  quits  in  a hit  at  packcammon.” 

The  playing  at  backgammon  and  draughts  had 
been  a frequent  amusement  of  Mr.  Whackbairn, 
Butler's  principal,  when  at  Libberton  school.  The 
minister,  therefore,  still  piqued  himself  on  his  skill 
at  both  games,  and  occasionally  practised  them,  as 
strictly  canonical,  although  David  Deans,  whose 
notions  of  every  kind  were  more  rigorous,  used  to 
shake  his  head,  and  groan  grievously,  when  he 
espied  the  tables  lying  in  the  parlour,  or  the  chil- 
dren playing  with  the  dice-boxes  or  backgammon 
men.  Indeed,  Mrs  Butler  was  sometimes  chidden 
for  removing  these  implements  of  pastime  into  some 
closet  or  corner  out  of  sight,  “ Let  them  be  where 
they  are,  Jeanie, ” would  Butler  say  upon  such  occa- 
sions; ‘"I  am  not  conscious  of  following  this,  or 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTIIIAN. 


327 


any  other  trifling  relaxation,  to  the  interruption  of 
my  more  serious  studies,  and  still  more  serious 
duties.  I will  not,  therefore,  have  it  supposed  that 
I am  indulging  by  stealth,  and  against  my  con- 
science, in  an  amusement  which,  using  it  so  little 
as  I do,  I may  well  practise  openly,  and  without 
any  check  of  mind  — Nil  conscire  sibi,  Jeanie,  that 
is  my  motto;  which  signifies,  my  love,  the  honest 
and  open  confidence  which  a man  ought  to  enter- 
tain when  he  is  acting  openly,  and  without  any 
sense  of  doing  wrong.” 

Such  being  Butler's  humour,  he  accepted  the 
Captain’s  defiance  to  a two-penny  hit  at  backgam- 
mon, and  handed  the  letter  to  his  wife,  observing, 
the  post-mark  was  York,  but,  if  it  came  from  her 
friend  Mrs.  Bickerton,  she  had  considerably  im- 
proved her  handwriting,  which  was  uncommon  at 
her  years. 

Leaving  the  gentlemen  to  their  game,  Mrs.  But- 
ler went  to  order  something  for  supper,  for  Cap- 
tain Duncan  had  proposed  kindly  to  stay  the  night 
with  them,  and  then  carelessly  broke  open  her  let- 
ter. It  was  not  from  Mrs.  Bickerton,  and,  after 
glancing  over  the  first  few  lines,  she  soon  found  it 
necessary  to  retire  into  her  own  bedroom,  to  read 
the  document  at  leisure. 


CHAPTER  XXIV, 


Happy  thou  art ! then  happy  be, 

Nor  envy  me  my  lot ; 

Thy  happy  state  I envy  thee, 

And  peaceful  cot. 

Lady  C—  C— 

The  letter,  which  Mrs.  Butler,  when  retired  into 
her  own  apartment,  perused  with  anxious  wonder, 
was  certainly  from  Effie,  although  it  had  no  other 
signature  than  the  letter  E. ; and  although  the 
orthography,  style,  and  penmanship,  were  very  far 
superior  not  only  to  any  thing  which  Effie  could 
produce,  who,  though  a lively  girl,  had  been  a re- 
markably careless  scholar,  but  even  to  her  more 
considerate  sister’s  own  powers  of  composition  and 
expression.  The  manuscript  was  a fair  Italian 
hand,  though  something  stiff  and  constrained  — the 
spelling  and  the  diction  that  of  a person  who  had 
been  accustomed  to  read  good  composition,  and  mix 
in  good  society. 

The  tenor  of  the  letter  was  as  follows  r 

• 

“My  Dearest  Sister, —At  many  risks  I ven- 
ture to  write  to  you,  to  inform  you  that  I am  still 
alive,  and,  as  to  worldly  situation,  that  I rank  higher 
than  I could  expect  or  merit.  If  wealth,  and  distinc- 
tion, and  an  honourable  rank,  could  make  a woman 
happy,  I have  them  all;  but  you,  Jeanie,  whom  the 
world  might  think  placed  far  beneath  me  in  all  these 
vespects,  are  far  happier  than  I am.  I have  had  means 


THE  HEAKT  OF  MID-LOTHIAN. 


329 


of  hearing  of  your  welfare,  my  dearest  Jeanie,  from 
time  to  time  — I think  I should  have  broken  my 
heart  otherwise.  I have  learned  with  great  pleasure  of 
your  increasing  family.  We  have  not  been  worthy  of 
such  a blessing;  two  infants  have  been  successively 
removed,  and  we  are  now  childless  — God’s  will  be 
done!  But,  if  we  had  a chHctTTt  would  perhaps  divert 
him  from  the  gloomy  thoughts  which  make  him  ter- 
rible to  himself  and  others,  Y.et  do  not  let  me  frighten 
you,  Jeanie;  he  continues  to  Tie  'kind,  and  Tam  far 
better"  "off  than  I deserve.  You  will  wonder  at  my 
better  scholarship;  but  when  I was  abroad,  I had 
the  best  teachers,  and  I worked  hard  because  my 
progress  pleased  him.  He  is  kind,  Jeanie,  only  he  has 
much  to  distress  him,  especially  when  he  looks  back- 
ward. When  I look  backward  myself,  I have  always  a 
ray  of  comfort;  it  is  in  the  generous  conduct  of  a sis- 
ter, who  forsook  me  not  when  I was  forsaken  by  every 
one.  You  have  had  your  reward.  You  live  happy  in 
the  esteem  and  love  of  all  who  know  you,  and  I drag  on 
the  life  of  a miserable  impostor,  indebted  for  the  marks 
of  regard  I receive  to  a tissue  of  deceit  and  lies,  which 
the  slightest  accident  may  unravel.  He  has  produced 
me  to  his  friends,  since  the  estate  opened  to  him,  as  the 
daughter  of  a Scotchman  of  rank,  ba  11  i shell  6 11  accou  1 it 
of  theWhscaunt  ,pfj^ndee’s  wars' — that  is,  our  Fr’s 
old  friend  Clavers,  you  know  — and  he  says  I was  edu- 
cated in  a Scotch  convent  ; indeedTT^^nTfd  in  such 
a place  long  enough  to  enable  me  to  support  the 
character.  But  when  a countryman  approaches  me, 
x^and  begins  to  talk,  as  they  all  do,  of  the  various 
families  engaged  in  Dundee’s  affair,  and  to  make 
enquiries  into  my  connexions,  and  when  I see  his 
eye  bent  on  mine  with  such  an  expression  of  agony, 
my  terror  brings  me  to  the  very  risk  of  detection. 
Good-nature  and  politeness  have  hitherto  saved  me, 
as  they  prevented  people  from  pressing  on  me  with 
distressing  questions.  But  how  long  — 0 how  long, 


330 


TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 


will  this  be  the  case! — And  if  I bring  this  disgrace 
on  him,  he  will  hate  me  — he  will  kill  me,  for  as 
much  as  he  loves  me;  he  is  as  jealous  of  his  family 
honour  now,  as  ever  he  was  careless  about  it.  I 
have  been  in  England  four  months,  and  have  often 
thought  of  writing  to  you;  and  yet,  such  are  the 
dangers  that  might  arise  from  an  intercepted  letter, 
that  I have  hitherto  forborne.  But  now  I am  ob- 
liged to  run  the  risk.  . Last  week  I saw  your  great 
friend,  the  D.  of  A.  He  came  to  my  box,  and  sate 
by  me;  and  something *Th^TEe  play  put  him  in  mind 
of  you — Gracious  Heaven!  he  told  over  your  whole 
London  journey  to  all  who  were*  in  the  box,  but 
particularly  to  the  wretched  creature  who  was  the 
occasion  of  it  all.  If : he-JmdJmoyrn  — if  he  could 
have  conceived,  beside  whom  he  was  sitting,  and  to 
whom  the  story  was  told!  — I suffered  with  courage, 
like  an  Indian  at  the  stake,  while  they  are  rending 
his  fibres  and  boring  his  eyes,  and  while  he  smiles 
applause  at  each  well-imagined  contrivance  of  his 
torturers.  It  was  too  much  for  me  at  last,  Jeanie 

— I fainted;  and  my  agony  was  imputed  partly  to 
the  heat  of  the  place,  and  partly  to  my  extreme 
sensibility;  and,  hypocrite  all  over,  I encouraged  both 
opinions — any  thing  but  discovery!  Luckily  he  was 
not  there.  But  the  incident  has  led  to  more  alarms. 
I am  obliged  to  meet  your  great  man  often;  and  he 
seldom  sees  me  without  talking  of  E.  D.  and  J.  D.,  and 
R.  B.  and  D.  D.,  as  persons  in  whom  my  amiable 
sensibility  is  interested.  My  amiable  sensibility!  ! ! 

— And  then  the  cruel  tone  of  light  indifference  with 
which  persons  in  the  fashionable  world  speak  together 
on  the  most  affecting  subjects!  To  hear  m}^  guilt,  my 
folly,  my  agony,  the  foibles  and  weaknesses  of  my 
friends — even  your  heroic  exertions,  Jeanie,  spoken 
of  in  the  drolling  style  which  is  the  present  tone  in 
fashionable  life  — Scarce  all  that  I formerly  endured  is 
equal  to  this  state  of  irritation  — then  it  was  blows 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN. 


33< 


and  stabs  — now  it  is  pricking  to  death  with  needles 
and  pins.  — He  — I mean  the  D.  — goes  down  next 
month  to  spend  the  shooting-season  in  Scotland — he 
says,  he  makes  a point  of  always  dining  one  day  at  the 
Manse  — he  on  your  guard,  and  do  not  betray  your- 
self, should  he  mention  me  — Yourself,  alas!  you  have 
nothing  to  betray  — nothing  to  fear;  you,  the  pure,  the 
virtuous,  the  heroine  of  unstained  faith,  unblemished 
purity,  what  can  you  have  to  fear  from  the  world  or  its 
proudest  minions?  It  is  E.  whose  life  is  once  more  in 
your  hands  — it  is  E.  whom  you  are  to  save  from  being 
plucked  of  her  borrowed  plumes,  discovered,  branded, 
and  trodden  down,  first  by  him,  perhaps,  who  has  raised 
her  to  this  dizzy  pinnacle ! — The  enclosure  will  reach 
you  twice  a-year  — do  not  refuse  it  — it  is  out  of  my 
own  allowance,  and  may  be  twice  as  much  when  }^ou 
want  it.  With  you  it  may  do  good  — with  me  it' 
never  can. 

“ Write  to  me  soon,  Jeanie,  or  I shall  remain  in  the 
agonizing  apprehension  that  this  has  fallen  into  wrong 
hands — Address  simply  to  L.  S.,  under  cover,  to  the 
Reverend  George  Whiterose,  in  the  Minster-Close, 
York.  He  thinks  I correspond  with  some  of  my  noble 
Jacobite  relations  who  are  in  Scotland.  How  high- 
church  and  jacobitical  zeal  would  burn  in  his  cheeks,  if 
he  knew  he  was  the  agent,  not  of  Euphemia  Setoun,  of 
the  honourable  house  ofWinton,  but  of  E.  D.,  daughter 
of  a Cameronian  cowfeeder!  — Jeanie,  I can  laugh  yet 
sometimes  — but  God  protect  you  from  such  mirth.  — 
My  father  — I mean  your  father,  would  say  it  was  like 
the  idle  crackling  of  thorns;  but  the  thorns  keep  their 
poignancy,  they  remain  unconsumed.  - — Farewell,  my 
dearest  Jeanie  — Do  not  show  this  even  to  Mr.  Butler, 
much  less  to  any  one  else  — I have  every  respect  for 
him,  but  his  principles  are  over  strict,  and  my  case 
will  not  endure  severe  handling.  - — I rest  your  affect 
tionate  sister,  E.  ? 


332 


TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 


In  this  long  letter  there  was  much  to  surprise 
as  well  as  to  distress  Mrs.  Butler.  That  Effie  — 
her  sister  Effie,  should  he  mingling  freely  in  society, 
and  apparently  on  not  unequal  terms,  with  the 
Duke  of  Argyle,  sounded  like  something  so  extra- 
ordinary, that  she  even  doubted  if  she  read  truly. 
Nor  was  it  less  marvellous,  that,  in  the  space  of 
four  years,  her  education  should  have  made  such 
progress,  Jeanie’s  humility  readily  allowed  that 
Effie  had  always,  when  she  chose  it,  been  smarter 
at  her  book  than  she  herself  was;  but  then  she  was 
very  idle,  and,  upon  the  whole,  had  made  much  less 
proficiency.  Love,  or  fear,  or  necessity,  however, 
had  proved  an  able  school-mistress,  and  completely 
,^supplied  all  her  deficiencies. 

What  Jeanie  least  liked  in  the  tone  of  the  letter 
was  a smothered  degree  of  egotism.  “We  should 
have  heard  little  about  her,”  said  Jeanie  to  herself, 
“ but  that  she  was  feared  the  Duke  might  come 
to  learn  wha  she  was,  and  a about  her  puir  friends 
here ; but  Effi£,  puir  thing,  aye  looks  her  ain  way 
and  folk  that  do  that  think  mair  o’  themselves  than 
of  their  neighbours,  — - 1 am  no  clear  about  keeping 
her  siller,”  she  added,  taking  up  a L.50  note  which 
had  fallen  out  of  the  paper  to  the  floor.  “We  hae 
eneugh,  and  it  looks  unco  like  theftboot,  or  hush- 
money,  as  they  ca’  it ; she  might  hae  been  sure  that 
I wad  say  naething  wad  harm  her,  for  a’  the  gowd 
in  Lunnon.  And  I maun  tell  the  minister  about 
it.  I dinna  see  that  she  suld  be  sae  feared  for 
her  ain  bonny  bargain  o’  a gudeman,  and  that  I 
shouldna  reverence  Mr.  Butler  just  as  much  ; and 
sae  I’ll  e’en  tell  him,  when  that  tippling  body  the 
Captain  has  ta’en  boat  in  the  morning.  — But  I won- 
der at  my  ain  state  of  mind,”  she  added,  turning 


THE  HEART  OE  MID-LOTHIAN. 


333 


back,  after  slie  had  made  a step  or  two  to  the  door  to 
join  the  gentlemen ; “ surely  I am  no  sic  a fule  as  to 
be  angry  that  Effie’s  a braw  lady,  while  I am  only  a 
minister’s  wife  ? — and  yet  I am  as  petted  as  a bairn, 
when  I should  bless  God,  that  has  redeemed  her 
from  shame,  and  poverty,  and  guilt,  as  ower  likely 
she  might  hae  been  plunged  into.” 

Sitting  down  upon  a stool  at  the  foot  of  the  bed, 
she  folded  her  arms  upon  her  bosom,  saying  within 
herself,  “From  this  place  will  I not  rise  till  I am 
in  a better  frame  of  mind ; ” and  so  placed,  by  dint 
of  tearing  the  veil  from  the  motives  of  her  little 
temporary  spleen  against  her  sister,  she  compelled 
herself  to  be  ashamed  of  them,  and  to  view  as  bless- 
ings the  advantages  of  her  sister’s  lot,  while  its  em- 
barrassments were  the  necessary  consequences  of 
errors  long  since  committed.  And  thus  she  fairly 
vanquished  the  feeling  of  pique  which  she  natu- 
rally enough  entertained,  at  seeing  Effie,  so  long 
the  object  of  her  care  and  her  pity,  soar  suddenly 
so  high  above  her  in  life,  as  to  reckon  amongst  the 
chief  objects  of  her  apprehension  the  risk  of  their 
relationship  being  discovered. 

When  this  unwonted  burst  of  amour  propre  was 
thoroughly  subdued,  she  walked  down  to  the  little 
parlour  where  the  gentlemen  were  finishing  their 
game,  and  heard  from  the  Captain  a confirmation 
of  the  news  intimated  in  her  letter,  that  the  Duke 
of  Argyle  was  shortly  expected  at  Roseneath. 

“ He’ll  find  plenty  of  moor-fowls  and  plack-cock 
on  the  moors  of  Auchingower,  and  he’ll  pe  nae 
doubt  for  taking  a late  dinner,  and  a ped  at  the 
Manse,  as  he  has  done  pefore  now.  ” 

“He  has  a gude  right,  Captain,”  said  Jeanie. 

“Teil  ane  petter  to  ony  ped  in  the  kintra,”  am 


334 


TALES  OE  MY  LANDLORD. 


swered  the  Captain.  “ And  ye  had  petter  tell  your 
father,  puir  body,  to  get  his  beasts  a’  in  order,  and 
put  his  tamn'd  Cameronian  nonsense  out  o'  his 
head  for  twa  or  three  days,  if  he  can  pe  so  oplig- 
ing;  for  fan  I speak  to  him  apout  prute  pestial, 
he  answers  me  out  o’  the  Pible,  whilk  is  not  using 
a shentleman  weel,  unless  it  be  a person  of  your 
cloth,  Mr.  Putler.,, 

No  one  understood  better  than  Jeanie  the  merit 
of  the  soft  answer,  which  turneth  away  wrath ; and 
she  only  smiled,  and  hoped  that  his  Grace  would 
find  every  thing  that  was  under  her  father's  care 
to  his  entire  satisfaction. 

But  the  Captain,  who  had  lost  the  whole  postage 
of  the  letter  at  backgammon,  was  in  the  pouting 
mood  not  unusual  to  losers,  and  which,  says  the 
proverb,  must  be  allowed  to  them. 

“ And,  Master  Putler,  though  you  know  I never 
meddle  with  the  things  of  your  kirk-sessions,  yet  I 
must  pe  allowed  to  say  that  I will  not  pe  pleased 
to  allow  Ailie  MacClure  of  Deepheugh  to  pe  poo- 
nished  as  a witch,  in  respect  she  only  spaes  for- 
tunes, and  does  not  lame,  or  plind,  or  pedevil  any 
persons,  or  coup  cadgers'  carts,  or  ony  sort  of  mis- 
chief ; put  only  tells  people  good  fortunes,  as  anent 
our  poats  killing  so  many  seals  and  doug-fishes, 
whilk  is  very  pleasant  to  hear.  ” 

“The  woman,"  said  Butler,  “is,  I believe,  no 
witch,  but  a cheat ; and  it  is  only  on  that  head  that 
she  is  summoned  to  the  kirk-session,  to  cause  hei 
to  desist  in  future  from  practising  her  impostures  * 
upon  ignorant  persons." 

* I do  not  know,"  replied  the  gracious  Duncan, 

“ what  her  practices  or  her  postures  are,  but  I pelieve 
that  if  the  poys  take  hould  on  her  to  duck  her  in 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN. 


335 


the  Clachan  purn,  it  will  be  a very  sorry  practice  — 
and  I pelieve,  moreover,  that  if  I come  in  thirds- 
man  among  you  at  the  kirk-sessions,  you  will  be  all 
in  a tamn’d  pad  posture  indeed.  ” 

Without  noticing  this  threat,  Mr.  Butler  replied, 

“ That  he  had  not  attended  to  the  risk  of  ill  usage 
which  the  poor  woman  might  undergo  at  the 
hands  of  the  rabble,  and  that  he  would  give  her  the 
necessary  admonition  in  private,  instead  of  bring- 
ing her  before  the  assembled  session.  ” 

“ This,”  Duncan  said,  “ was  speaking  like  a 
reasonable  shentleman ; ” and  so  the  evening  passed 
peaceably  off. 

Next  morning,  after  the  Captain  had  swallowed 
his  morning  draught  of  Athole  brose,  and  departed 
in  his  coach  and  six,  Mrs.  Butler  anew  deliberated 
upon  communicating  to  her  husband  her  sister’s 
letter.  But  she  was  deterred  by  the  recollection, 
that,  in  doing  so,  she  would  unveil  to  him  the  whole 
of  a dreadful  secret,  of  which,  perhaps,  his  public 
character  might  render  him  an  unfit  depositary. 
Butler  already  had  reason  to  believe  that  Effie  had 
eloped  with  that  same  Robertson  who  had  been  a 
leader  in  the  Porteous  mob,  and  who  lay  under 
sentence  of  death  for  the  robbery  at  Kirkaldy. 
But  he  did  not  know  his  identity  with  George  Staun-  \ 
ton,  a man  of  birth  and  fortune,  who  had  now  appar- 
ently reassumed  his  natural  rank  in  society.  Jeanie 
had  respected  Staunton’s  own  confession  as  sacred, 
and  upon  reflection  she  considered  the  letter  of  her 
sister  as  equally  so,  and  resolved  to  mention  the 
contents  to  no  one. 

On  reperusing  the  letter,  she  could  not  help  ob- 
serving the  staggering  and  unsatisfactory  condition 
of  those  who  have  risen  to  distinction  by  undue 


336 


TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 


paths,  and  the  outworks  and  bulwarks  of  fiction  and 
falsehood,  by  which  they  are  under  the  necessity  of 
surrounding  and  defending  their  precarious  advan- 
tages. But  she  was  not  called  upon,  she  thought, 
to  unveil  her  sister’s  original  history  — it  . would 
restore  no  right  to  any  one,  for  she  was  usurping 
none  — it  would  only  destroy  her  happiness,  and 
degrade  her  in  the  public  estimation.  Had  she  been 
wise,  Jeanie  thought  she  would  have  chosen  seclu- 
sion and  privacy,  in  place  of  public  life  and  gaiety ; 
but  the  power  of  choice  might  not  be  hers.  The 
mopey,  she  thought,  could  not  be  returned  without 
hep'  seeming  haughty  and  unkind.  She  resolved, 
therefore,  upon  reconsidering  this  point,  to  employ 
it  as  occasion  should  serve,  either  in  educating  her 
children  better  than  her  own  means  could  compass, 
or  for  their  future  portion.  Her  sister  had  enough, 
was  strongly  bound  to  assist  Jeanie  by  any  means 
in  her  power,  and  the  arrangement  was  so  natural 
and  proper,  that  it  ought  not  to  be  declined  out  of 
fastidious  or  romantic  delicacy.  Jeanie  accordingly 
wrote  to  her  sister,  acknowledging  her  letter,  and 
requesting  to  hear  from  her  as  often  as  she  could. 
In  entering  into  her  own  little  details  of  news, 
chiefly  respecting  domestic  affairs,  she  experienced 
a singular  vacillation  of  ideas ; for  sometimes  she 
apologized  for  mentioning  things  unworthy  the 
notice  of  a lady  of  rank,  and  then  recollected  that 
every  thing  which  concerned  her  should  be  interest- 
ing to  Effie.  Her  letter,  under  the  cover  of  Mr. 
Whiterose,  she  committed  to  the  post-office  at 
Glasgow,  by  the  intervention  of  a parishioner  who 
had  business  at  that  city. 

The  next  week  brought  the  Duke  to  Roseneath, 
and  shortly  afterwards  he  intimated  his  intention  of 


THE  HEART  OE  MID-LOTHIAN. 


337 


sporting  in  tlieir  neighbourhood,  and  taking  his  bed 
at  the  Manse  ; an  honour  which  he  had  once  or 
twice  done  to  its  inmates  on  former  occasions. 

Effie  proved  to  be  perfectly  right  in  her  antici- 
pations. The  Duke  had  hardly  set  himself  down 
at  Mrs.  Butler’s  right  hand,  and  taken  upon  him- 
self the  task  of  carving  the  excellent  “ barn-door 
chucky,”  which  had  been  selected  as  the  high  dish 
upon  this  honourable  occasion,  before  he  began  to 
speak  of  Lady  Staunton  of  Willingham,  in  Lin- 
colnshire, and  the  great  noise  which  her  wit  and 
beauty  made  in  London.  For  much  of  this  Jeanie 
was,  in  some  measure,  prepared  — but  Effie’s  wit ! 
that  would  never  have  entered  into  her  imagination, 
being  ignorant  how  exactly  raillery  in  the  higher 
rank  resembles  flippancy  among  their  inferiors. 

“ She  has  been  the  ruling  belle  — the  blazing  star 
— the  universal  toast  of  the  winter,”  said  the  Duke  ; 
“ and  is  really  the  most  beautiful  creature  that  was 
seen  at  court  upon  the  birth-day.” 

The  birth-day  ! and  at  court ! — Jeanie  was  anni- 
hilated, remembering  well  her  own  presentation,  all 
its  extraordinary  circumstances,  and  particularly 
the  cause  of  it. 

“ I mention  this  lady  particularly  to  you,  Mrs. 
Butler,”  said  the  Duke,  “ because  she  has  some- 
thing in  the  sound  of  her  voice,  and  cast  of  hei 
countenance,  that  reminded  me  of  you  — not  when 
you  look  so  pale  though  — you  have  over-fatigued 
yourself  — you  must  pledge  me  in  a glass  of  wine.” 
She  did  so,  and  Butler  observed,  “ It  was  dan- 
gerous flattery  in  his  Grace  to  tell  a poor  minister’s 
wife  that  she  was  like  a court-beauty.” 

“ Oho  ! Mr.  Butler,”  said  the  Duke,  “ I find  you 
are  growing  jealous  ; but  it’s  rather  too  late  in  the 


333 


TALES  OE  MY  LANDLORD. 


day,  for  you  know  how  long  I have  admired  your 
wife.  But  seriously,  there  is  betwixt  them  one  of 
those  inexplicable  likenesses  which  we  see  in  coun- 
tenances, that  do  not  otherwise  resemble  each 
other.” 

“ The  perilous  part  of  the  compliment  has  flown 
off,”  thought  Mr.  Butler. 

His  wife,  feeling  the  awkwardness  of  silence, 
forced  herself  to  say,  “ That,  perhaps,  the  lady 
might  be  her  countrywoman,  and  the  language 
might  make  some  resemblance.,, 

“ You  are  quite  right,”  replied  the  Duke.  “ She 
is  a Scotchwoman,  and  speaks  with  a Scotch  accent, 
and  now  and  then  a provincial  word  drops  out  so 
prettily,  that  it  is  quite  Doric,  Mr.  Butler.” 

“ I should  have  thought,”  said  the  clergyman, 
“ that  would  have  sounded  vulgar  in  the  great  city.” 
“ Not  at  all,”  replied  the  Duke ; “ you  must  sup- 
pose it  is  not  the  broad  coarse  Scotch  that  is  spoken 
in  the  Cowgate  of  Edinburgh,  or  in  the  Gorbals. 
This  lady  has  been  very  little  in  Scotland,  in  fact  — 
She  was  educated  in  a convent  abroad,  and  speaks 
that  pure  court-Scotch,  which  was  common  in  my 
younger  days ; but  it  is  so  generally  disused  now, 
that  it  sounds  like  a different  dialect,  entirely  dis- 
tinct from  our  modern  patois ” 

Notwithstanding  her  anxiety,  Jeanie  could  not 
help  admiring  within  herself,  how  the  most  correct 
judges  of  life  and  manners  can  be  imposed  on  by 
their  own  preconceptions,  while  the  Duke  proceeded 
thus  : “ She  is  of  the  unfortunate  house  of  Winton, 
I believe  ; but,  being  bred  abroad,  she  had  missed 
the  opportunity  of  learning  her  own  pedigree,  and 
was  obliged  to  me  for  informing  her,  that  she  must 
certainly  come  of  the  Setons  of  Windygoul.  I wish 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN. 


339 


you  could  have  seen  how  prettily  she  blushed  at 
her  own  ignorance.  Amidst  her  noble  and  elegant 
manners,  there  is  now  and  then  a little  touch  of 
bashfulness  and  conventual  rusticity,  if  I may 
call  it  so,  that  makes  her  quite  enchanting.  You 
see  at  once  the  rose  that  had  bloomed  untouched 
amid  the  chaste  precincts  of  the  cloister,  Mr. 
Butler.” 

True  to  the  hint,  Mr.  Butler  failed  not  to  start 
with  his 

“ Ut  flos  in  septis  secretus  nascitur  hortis,,,  &c. 

while  his  wife  could  hardly  persuade  herself  that 
all  this  was  spoken  of  Effie  Deans,  and  by  so  com- 
petent a judge  as  the  Duke  of  Argyle  ; and  had 
she  been  acquainted  with  Catullus,  would  have 
thought  the  fortunes  of  her  sister  had  reversed  the 
whole  passage. 

She  was,  however,  determined  to  obtain  some 
indemnification  for  the  anxious  feelings  of  the  mo- 
ment, by  gaining  all  the  intelligence  she  could  ;•  and 
therefore  ventured  to  make  some  enquiry  about  the 
husband  of  the  lady  his  Grace  admired  so  much. 

“ He  is  very  rich/’  replied  the  Duke ; “ of  an 
ancient  family,  and  has  good  manners  ; but  he  is 
far  from  being  such  a general  favourite  as  his  wife. 
Some  people  say  he  can  be  very  pleasant  — I never 
saw  him  so;  but  should  rather  judge  him  reserved, 
and  gloomy,  and  capricious.  He  was  very  wild  in 
his  youth,  they  say,  and  has  bad  health ; yet  he  is 
a good-looking  man  enough  — a great  friend  of  your 
Lord  High  Commissioner  of  the  Kirk,  Mr.  Butler.” 

“ Then  he  is  the  friend  of  a very  worthy  and 
honourable  nobleman,”  said  Butler. 


340 


TAIiES  OE  MY  LANDLORD. 


“ Does  he  admire  his  lady  as  much  as  other 
people  do  ? ” said  Jeanie,  in  a low  voice. 

“ Who  — Sir  George  ? They  say  he  is  very  fond 
of  her,”  said  the  Duke ; “ but  I observe  she  trem- 
bles a little  when  he  fixes  his  eye  on  her,  and  that 
is  no  good  sign  — But  it  is  strange  how  I am 
haunted  by  this  resemblance  of  yours  to  Lady  Staun- 
ton, in  look  and  tone  of  voice.  One  would  almost 
swear  you  were  sisters  ” 

Jeanie’s  distress  became  uncontrollable,  and  be- 
yond concealment.  The  Duke  of  Argyle  was  much 
disturbed,  good-naturedly  ascribing  it  to  his  having 
unwittingly  recalled  to  her  remembrance  her  family 
misfortunes.  He  was  too  well-bred  to  attempt 
to  apologize ; but  hastened  to  change  the  subject, 
and  arrange  certain  points  of  dispute  which  had 
occurred  betwixt  Duncan  of  Knock  and  the  minis- 
ter, acknowledging  that  his  worthy  substitute  was 
sometimes  a little  too  obstinate,  as  well  as  too  ener- 
getic, in  his  executive  measures. 

Mr.  Butler  admitted  his  general  merits  ; but  said, 
“ He  would  presume  to  apply  to  the  worthy  gentle- 
man the  words  of  the  poet  to  Marrucinus  Asinius, 

4 Manu — - — 

Non  belle  uteris  in  joco  atque  vino.’  ” 

The  discourse  being  thus  turned  on  parish-busi- 
ness, nothing  farther  occurred  that  can  interest  the 
reader. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 


Upon  my  head  they  placed  a fruitless  crown, 

And  put  a barren  sceptre  in  my  gripe, 

Thence  to  be  wrench’d  by  an  unlineal  hand, 

No  son  of  mine  succeeding. 

Macbeth . 


After  this  period,  but  under  the  most  strict  pre- 
cautions against  discovery,  the  sisters  corresponded 
occasionally,  exchanging  letters  about  twice  every 
year.  Those  of  Lady  Staunton  spoke  of  her  hus- 
band's health  and  spirits  as  being  deplorably 
uncertain ; her  own  seemed  also  to  be  sinking,  and 
one  of  the  topics  on  which  she  most  frequently 
dwelt  was  their  want  of  family.  Sir  George  Staun- 
ton, always  violent,  had  taken  some  aversion  at  the 
next  heir,  whom  he  suspected  of  having  irritated 
his  friends  against  him  during  his  absence ; and  he 
declared,  he  would  bequeath  Willingham  and  all 
its  lands  to  an  hospital,  ere  that  fetch-and-carry 
tell-tale  should  inherit  an  acre  of  it. 

“ Had  he  but  a child,"  said  the  unfortunate  wife, 
“ or  had  that  luckless  infant  survived,  it  would  be 
some  motive  for  living  and  for  exertion.  But 
Heaven  has  denied  us  a blessing  which  we  have  not 
deserved." 

Such  complaints,  in  varied  form,  but  turning  fre- 
quently on  the  same  topic,  filled  the  letters  which 
passed  from  the  spacious  but  melancholy  halls  of 
Willingham,  to  the  quiet  and  happy  parsonage  at 


342 


TALES  OE  MY  LANDLORD. 


Knock tarlifcie.  Years  meanwhile  rolled  on  amid 

these  fruitless  repinings.  John,  jDukq  of  Argyle 
and  Greenwich,  died  in  the  year  1743,  universally 
lamented,  but  by  none  more  than  by  the  Butlers, 
to  whom  his  benevolence  had  been  so  distinguished. 
He  was  succeeded  by  his  brother  Duke  Archibald, 
with  whom  they  had  not  the  same  intimacy  ; but 
who  continued  the  protection  which  his  brother  had 
extended  towards  them.  This,  indeed,  became  more 
necessary  than  ever ; for,  after  the  breaking  out  and 
suppression  of  the  rebellion  in  1745,  the  peace  of 
the  country,  adjacent  to  the  Highlands,  was  consi- 
derably disturbed.  Marauders,  or  men  that  had 
been  driven  to  that  desperate  mode  of  life,  quar- 
tered themselves  in  the  fastnesses  nearest  to  the 
Lowlands,  which  were  their  scene  of  plunder ; and 
there  is  scarce  a glen  in  the  romantic  and  now 
peaceable  Highlands  of  Perth,  Stirling,  and  Dun- 
bartonshire, where  one  or  more  did  not  take  up 
their  residence.  ] 

The  prime  pest  of  the  parish  of  Knocktarlitie- 
was  a certain  Donacha  dhu  na  Dunaigh,  or  Black 
Duncan  the  Mischievous,  whom  we  have  already 
casually  mentioned.  This  fellow  had  been  origi- 
nally a tinkler  or  caird , many  of  whom  stroll  about 
these  districts  ; but  when  all  police  was  disorganized 
by  the  civil  war,  he  threw  up  his  profession,  and 
from  half  thief  became  whole  robber;  and  beingd 
generally  at  the  head  of  three  or  four  active  young 
fellows,  and  he  himself  artful,  bold,  and  well  ac- 
quainted with  the  passes,  he  plied  his  new  profes- 
sion with  emolument  to  himself,  and  infinite  plague 
to  the  country. 

All  were  convinced  that  Duncan  of  Knock  could 
have  put  down  his  namesake  Donacha  any -morning 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN. 


343 


he  had  a mind ; for  there  were  in  the  parish  a set 
of  stout  young  men,  who  had  joined  Argyle’s  ban- 
ner in  the  war  under  his  old  friend,  and  behaved 
very  well  upon  several  occasions.  And  as  for  their 
leader,  as  no  one  doubted  his  courage,  it  was  gen- 
erally supposed  that  Donacha  had  found  out  the 
mode  of  conciliating  his  favour,  a thing  not  very 
uncommon  in  that  age  and  country.  This  was  the 
more  readily  believed,  as  David  Deans’s  cattle 
(being  the  property  of  the  Duke)  were  left  un- 
touched, when  the  minister’s  cows  were  carried  off 
by  the  thieves.  Another  attempt  was  made  to 
renew  the  same  act  of  rapine,  and  the  cattle  were  in 
the  act  of  being  driven  off,  when  Butler,  laying  his 
profession  aside  in  case  of  such  necessity,  put  him- 
self at  the  head  of  some  of  his  neighbours,  and  res- 
cued the  creagh,  an  exploit  at  which  Deans  attended 
in  person,  notwithstanding  his  extreme  old  age, 
mounted  on  a Highland  pony,  and  girded  with  an 
old  broadsword,  likening  himself  (for  he  failed  not 
to  arrogate  the  whole  merit  of  the  expedition)  to 
David,  the  son  of  Jesse,  when  he  recovered  the  spoil 
of  Ziklag  from  the  Amalekites.  This  spirited  be- 
haviour had  so  far  a good  effect,  that  Donacha  dhu 
11a  Dunaigh  kept  his  distance  for  some  time  to 
come  ; and,  though  his  distant  exploits  were  fre- 
quently spoken  of,  he  did  not  exercise  any  depre- 
dations in  that  part  of  the  country.  He  continued 
to  flourish,  and  to  be  heard  of  occasionally,  until  the 
year  1751,  when,  if  the  fear  of  the  second  David 
had  kept  him  in  check,  fate  released  him  from  that 
restraint,  for  the  venerable  patriarch  of  St.  Leonard’s 
was  that  year  gathered  to  his  fathers. 

David  Deans  died  full  of  years  and  of  honour. 
He  is  believed,  for  the  exact  time  of  his  birth  is  not 


344 


TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 


known,  to  have  lived  upwards  of  ninety  years , foi 
he  used  to  speak  of  events  as  falling  under  his  own 
knowledge,  which  happened  about  the  time  of  the 
battle  of  Bothwell-Bridge,  It  was  said  that  he  even 
bore  arms  there  ; for  once,  when  a drunken  Jacob- 
ite laird  wished  for  a Bothwell-Brigg  whig,  that 
“ he  might  stow  the  lugs  out  of  his  head,”  David 
informed  him  with  a peculiar  austerity  of  counte- 
nance, that,  if  he  liked  to  try  such  a prank,  there 
was  one  at  his  elbow;  and  it  required  the  inter- 
ference of  Butler  to  preserve  the  peace. 

N /He  expired  in  the  arms  of  his  beloved  daughter, 
thankful  for  all  the  blessings  which  Providence  had 
vouchsafed  to  him  while  in  this  valley  of  strife  and 
toil  — and  thankful  also  for  the  trials  he  had  been 
visited  with  ; having  found  them,  he  said,  needful  ; 
to  mortify  that  spiritual  pride  and  confidence  in 
his  own  gifts,  which  was  the  side  on  which  the  wily 
Enemy  did  most  sorely  beset  him.  He  prayed  in 
the  most  affecting  manner  for  Jeanie,  her  husband,  ( 
and  her  family,  and  that  her  affectionate  duty  to 
the  puir  auld  man  might  purchase  her  length  of 
days  here,  and  happiness  hereafter;  then,  in  a 
pathetic  petition,  too  well  understood  by  those  who 
knew  his  family  circumstances,  he  besought  the  ’ 
Shepherd  of  souls,  while  gathering  his  flock,  not  to  j 
forget  the  little  one  that  had  strayed  from  the  fold,  ; 
and  even  then  might  be  in  the  hands  of  the  raven- 
ing  wolf.  — He  prayed  for  the  national  Jerusalem, 
that  peace  might  be  in  her  land,  and  prosperity  in 
her  palaces  — for  the  welfare  of  the  honourable 
House  of  Argyle,  and  for  the  conversion  of  Dun-  ^ 

xcan  of  Knockdunder.  After  this  he  was  silent, 

^ . • s 

being  exhausted,  nor  did  he  again  utter  any  thing 

distinctly.  He  was  heard,  indeed,  to  mutter  some- 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN* 


345 


thing  about  national  defections,  right-hand  ex- 
tremes, and  left-hand  fallings  off ; but,  as  May 
Hettly  observed,  his  head  was  carried  at  the  time . 
and  it  is  probable  that  these  expressions  occurred 
to  him  merely  out  of  general  habit,  and  that  he  died 
in  the  full  spirit  of  charity  with  all  men.  About 
an  hour  afterwards  he  slept  in  the  Lord. 

Notwithstanding  her  father’s  advanced  age,  his 
death  was  a severe  shock  to  Mrs.  Butler.  Much 
of  her  time  had  been  dedicated  to  attending  to  his 
health  and  his  wishes,  and  she  felt  as  if  part  of  her 
business  in  the  world  was  ended,  when  the  good  old 
man  was  no  more.  His  wealth,  which  came  nearly 
to  fifteen  hundred  pounds,  in  disposable  capital, 
served  to  raise  the  fortunes  of  the  family  at  the 
Manse.  How  to  dispose  of  this  sum  for  the  best 
advantage  of  his  family,  was  matter  of  anxious  con- 
sideration to  Butler. 

“ If  we  put  it  on  heritable  bond,  we  shall  maybe 
lose  the  interest ; for  there’s  that  bond  over  Louns- 
beck’s  land,  your  father  could  neither  get  principal 
nor  interest  for  it  — If  we  bring  it  into  the  funds, 
we  shall  maybe  lose  the  principal  and  all,  as  many 
did  in  the  South  Sea  scheme.  The  little  estate  of 
Craigsture  is  in  the  market  — it  lies  within  two 
miles  of  the  Manse,  and  Knock  says  his  Grace  has 
no  thought  to  buy  it.  But  they  ask  L.2500,  and 
they  may,  for  it  is  worth  the  money ; and  were  I 
to  borrow  the  balance,  the  creditor  might  call  it  up 
suddenly,  or  in  case  of  my  death  my  family  might 
be  distressed.’’ 

“And  so,  if  we  had  mair  siller,  we  might  buy 
that  bonny  pasture-ground,  where  the  grass  comes 
so  early  ? ” asked  Jeanie. 

“ Certainly,  my  dear ; and  Knockdunder,  who  is 


346 


TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 


a good  judge,  is  strongly  advising  me  to  it.  — To  be 
sure  it  is  his  nephew  that  is  selling  it.” 

« Aweel,  Reuben,”  said  Jeanie,  “ ye  maun  just 
look  up  a text  in  Scripture,  as  ye  did  when  ye 
wanted  siller  before  — just  look  up  a text  in  the 
Bible.” 

« Ah,  Jeanie,”  said  Butler,  laughing  and  pressing 
her  hand  at  the  same  time,  “ the  best  people  in 
these  times  can  only  work  miracles  once." 

“We  will  see,”  said  Jeanie  composedly;  and 
going  to  the  closet  in  which  she  kept  her  honey, 
her  sugar,  her  pots  of  jelly,  her  vials  of  the  more  j 
ordinary  medicines,  and  which  served  her,  in  short, 
as  a sort  of  store-room,  she  jangled  vials  and  galli- 
pots, till,  from  out  the  darkest  nook,  well  flanked, 
by  a triple  row  of  bottles  and  jars,  which  she  was 
under  the  necessity  of  displacing,  she  brought  a | 
cracked  brown  cann,  with  a piece  of  leather  tied, 
over  the  top.  Its  contents  seemed  to  be  written 
papers,  thrust  in  disorder  into  this  uncommon’ 
secretaire.  But  from  among  these  Jeanie  brought 
an  old  clasped  Bible,  which  had  been  David  Deans’s 
companion  in  his  earlier  wanderings,  and  which  he 
had  given  to  his  daughter  when  the  failure  of  his 
eyes  had  compelled  him  to  use  one  of  a larger  print. 
This  she  gave  to  Butler,  who  had  been  looking  at 
her  motions  with  some  surprise,  and  desired  hint 
,<to  see  what  that  book  could  do  for  him.  He  opened 
/ the  clasps,  and  to  his  astonishment  a parcel  of  L.5t 
bank-notes  dropped  out  from  betwixt  the  leaves 
where  they  had  been  separately  lodged,  and  flut 
tered  upon  the  floor.  “ I didna  think  to  hae  taulc 
you  o’  my  wealth,  Reuben,”  said  his  wife,  smiling 
at  his  surprise,  “ till  on  my  deathbed,  or  maybe  oi 
some  family  pinch ; but  it  wad  be  better  laid  ou 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTIIIAN. 


347 

on  yon  bonny  grass-holms,  than  lying  useless  here 
in  this  auld  pigg .” 

“ How  on  earth  came  ye  by  that  siller,  Jeanie  ? 
— Why,  here  is  more  than  a thousand  pounds,”  said 
Butler,  lifting  up  and  counting  the  notes. 

If  it  were  ten  thousand,  it’s  a’  honestly  come 
by,”  said  Jeanie;  “and  troth  I kenna  how  muckle 

there  is  o’t,  but  it’s  a’  there  that  ever  I got. And 

as  for  how  I came  by  it,  Reuben  — it’s  weel  come 
by,  and  honestly,  as  I said  before  — And  it’s  mair 
folk’s  secret  than  mine,  or  ye  wad  hae  kend  about 
it  lang  syne ; and  as  for  ony  thing  else,  I am  not 
free  to  answer  mair  questions  about  it,  and  ye 
maun  just  ask  me  nane.” 

“Answer  me  but  one,”  said  Butler.  “Is  it  all 
freely  and  indisputably  your  own  property,  to  dis- 
pose of  it  as  you  think  fit?  — Is  it  possible  no  one 
has  a claim  in  so  large  a sum  except  you?” 

“It  was  mine,  free  to  dispose  of  it  as  I like," 
answered  Jeanie;  “and  I have  disposed  of  it  al- 
ready, for  now  it  is  yours,  Reuben  — You  are  Bible 
Butler  now,  as  weel  as  your  forbear,  that  my  puir 
father  had  sic  an  ill  will  at.  Only,  if  ye  like,  I 
wad  wish  Femie  to  get  a gude  share  o’t  when  we 
are  gane.” 

Certainly,  it  shall  be  as  you  choose  — But  who 
on  earth  ever  pitched  on  such  a hiding-place  for 
temporal  treasures  ? ” 

“ That  is  just  ane  o’  my  auld-fashioned  gates,  as 
yon  ca’  them,  Reuben.  I thought  if  Donacha  Dhu 
was  to  make  an  outbreak ‘upon  us,  the  Bible  was 
the  last  thing  in  the  house  he  wad  meddle  wi’  — 
but  an  ony  mair  siller  should  drap  in,  as  it  is  not 
unlikely,  I shall  e’en  pay  it  ower  to  you,  and  ye 
may  lay  it  out  your  ain  way.” 


348  TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 

« And  I positively  must  not  ask  yon  how  you  have 
come  by  all  this  money  ? ” said  the  clergyman. 

“Indeed,  Reuben,  you  must  not;  for  if  you  were 
asking  me  very  sair  I wad  maybe  tell  you,  and  then 
I am  sure  I would  do  wrong.” 

“ But  tell  me,”  said  Butler,  “ is  it  any  thing  that 
distresses  your  own  mind?” 

« There  is  baith  weal  and  woe  come  aye  wi’  warld  s 
gear,  Reuben  ; but  ye  maun  ask  me  naething  mair  — 
This  siller  binds  me  to  naething,  and  can  never  be 
speered  back  again.” 

« Surely,”  said  Mr.  Butler,  when  he  had  again 
counted  over  the  money,  as  if  to  assure  himself 
that  the  notes  were  real,  “ there  was  never  man  in 
the  world  had  a wife  like  mine  — a blessing  seems 
to  follow  her.” 

“Never,”  said  Jeanie,  “since  the  enchanted  prin- 
cess in  the  bairns’  fairy  tale,  that  kamed  gold  nobles 
out  o’  the  tae  side  of  her  haffit  locks,  and  Dutch 
dollars  out  o’  the  tother.  But  gang  away  now,  min- 
ister, and  put  by  the  siller,  and  dinna  keep  the  notes 
wampishing  in  your  hand  that  gate,  or  I shall  wish 
them  in  the  brown  pigg  again,  for  fear  we  get  a black 
cast  about  them  — we’re  ower  near  the  hills  in  these 
times  to  be  thought  to  hae  siller  in  the  house.  And 
besides,  ye  maun  gree  wi’  Knockdunder,  that  hastse 
selling  o’  the  lands ; and  dinna  you  be  simple  and  let 
him  ken  o’  this  windfa’,  but  keep  him  to  the  very 
lowesrpennyra-s  if  ye  had  to  borrow  siller  to  make, 
the  price  up.” 

In  the  last  admonition  Jeanie  showed  distinctly, 
that,  although  she  did  not  understand  how  to  secure 
the  money  which  came  into  her  hands  otherwise 
than  by  saving  and  hoarding  it,  yet  she  had  some 
part  of  her  father  David’s  shrewdness,  even  upon 


THE  HEART  OE  MID-LOTHIAN. 


349 


worldly  subjects.  And  Reuben  Butler  was  a pru- 
dent man,  and  went  and  did  even  as  bis  wife  had 
advised  him. 

The  news  quickly  went  abroad  into  the  parish 
that  the  minister  had  bought  Craigsture ; and  some 
wished  him  joy,  and  some  “ were  sorry  it  had  gane 
out  of  the  auld  name.”  However,  his.  clerical 
brethren,  understanding  that  he  was  under  the 
necesssity~  oPgblng  lu  '■Edinburgh  about  the  ensu- 
ing Whitsunday,  to  get  together  David  Deans's  cash 
to  make  up  the  purchase-money  of  his  new  acquisi- 
tion, took  the  opportunity  to  name  him  their  dele- 
gate to  the  General  Assembly,  or  Convocation  of  the 
Scottish  Church,  which  takes  place  usually  in  the 
latter  end  of  the  month  of  May. 


& 

CHAPTER  XXYI. 

But  who  is  this  ? what  thing  of  sea  or  land  — 

F emale  of  sex  it  seems  — 

That  so  bedeck’d,  ornate,  and  gay, 

Comes  this  way  sailing  1 

Milton. 

Not  long  after  the  incident  of  the  Bible  and  the 
bank  notes,  Fortune  showed  that  she  could  surprise 
Mrs.  Butler  as  well  as  her  husband.  The  minister, 
in  order  to  accomplish  the  various  pieces  of  busi- 
ness, which  his  unwonted  visit  to  Edinburgh  ren- 
dered necessary,  had  been  under  the  necessity  of 
setting  out  from  home  in  the  latter  end  of  the 
month  of  February,  concluding  justly,  that  he 
would  find  the  space  betwixt  his  departure  and  ; 
the  term  of  Whitsunday  (24th  May)  short  enough 
for  the  purpose  of  bringing  forward  those  various 
debtors  of  old  David  Deans,  out  of  whose  purses  a 
considerable  part  of  the  price  of  his  new  purchase 
was  to  be  made  good. 

Jeanie  was  thus  in  the  unwonted  situation  of  in- 
habiting a lonely  house,  and  she  felt  yet  more  soli- 
tary from  the  death  of  the  good  old  man,  who  used  » 
to  divide  her  cares  with  her  husband.  Her  children 
were  her  principal  resource,  and  to  them  she  paid 
constant  attention. 

It  happened,  a day  or  two  after  Butler’s  departure, 
that,  while  she  was  engaged  in  some  domestic  duties, 
she  heard  a dispute  among  the  young  folk,  which, 


THE  HEART  OF  MJ I)  LOTHIAN. 


35* 


being  maintained  with  obstinacy,  appeared  to  call 
for  her  interference.  All  came  to  their  natural 
umpire  with  their  complaints.  Femie,  not  yet  ten 
years  old,  charged  Davie  and  Reubie  with  an  at- 
tempt to  take  away  her  book  by  force ; and  David 
and  Reuben  replied,  the  elder,  “ That  it  was  not  a 
book  for  Femie  to  read,”  and  Reuben,  “That  it  was 
about  a bad  woman.” 

“ Where  did  you  get  the  book,  ye  little  hempie  ? ” 
said  Mrs.  Butler.  “ How  dare  ye  touch  papa's 
books  when  he  is  away  V* 

But  the  little  lady,  holding  fast  a sheet  of  crum- 
pled paper,  declared,  “ It  was  nane  o’  papa's  books, 
and  May  Hettley  had  taken  it  off  the  muckle  cheese 
which  came  from  Tnverara ; ” for,  as  was  very  natu- 
ral to  suppose,  a friendly  intercourse,  with  inter- 
change of  mutual  civilities,  was  kept  up  from 
time  to  time  between  Mrs.  Dolly  Dutton,  now 
Mrs.  MacCorkindale,  and  her  former  friends. 

Jeanie  took  the  subject  of  contention  out  of  the 
child's  hand,  to  satisfy  herself  of  the  propriety  of 
her  studies ; but  how  much  was  she  struck  when 
she  read  upon  the  title  of  the  broadside-sheet,  “ The 
Last  Speech,  Confession,  and  Dying  Words  of  Mar- 
garet MacCraw,  or  Murdockson,  executed  on  Hara- 

bee-hill,  near  Carlisle,  the  — - day  of 1737.”  It 

was,  indeed,  one  of  those  papers  which  Archibald 
had  bought  at  Longtown,  when  he  monopolized  the 
pedlar’s  stock,  which  Dolly  had  thrust  into  her 
trunk  out  of  sheer  economy.  One  or  two  copies,  it 
seems,  had  remained  in  her  repositories  at  Inverary, 
till  she  chanced  to  need  them  in  packing  a cheese, 
which,  as  a very  superior  production,  was  sent, 
in  the  way  of  civil  challenge,  to  the  dairy  at 
Knocktarlitie, 


352 


TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 


The  title  of  this  paper,  so  strangely  fallen  into 
the  very  hands  from  which,  in  well-meant  respect 
to  her  feelings,  it  had  been  so  long  detained,  was 
of  itself  sufficiently  startling ; but  the  narrative  it- 
self was  so  interesting,  that  Jeanie,  shaking  herself 
loose  from  the  children,  ran  up  stairs  to  her  own 
apartment,  and  bolted  the  door,  to  peruse  it  with- 
out interruption. 

The  narrative,  which  appeared  to  have  been 
drawn  up,  or  at  least  corrected,  by  the  clergyman 
who  attended  this  unhappy  woman,  stated  the  crime 
for  which  she  suffered  to  have  been  “her  active 
part  in  that  atrocious  robbery  and  murder,  com- 
mitted near  two  years  since  near  Haltwhistle,  for 
which  the  notorious  Frank  Levitt  was  committed 
for  trial  at  Lancaster  assizes.  It  was  supposed  the 
evidence  of  the  accomplice,  Thomas  Tuck,  com- 
monly called  Tyburn  Tom,  upon  which  the  woman 
had  been  convicted,  would  weigh  equally  heavy 
against  him ; although  many  were  inclined  to  think 
it  was  Tuck  himself  who  had  struck  the  fatal 
blow,  according  to  the  dying  statement  of  Meg 
Murdockson.,, 

After  a circumstantial  account  of  the  crime  for 
which  she  suffered,  there  was  a brief  sketch  of 
Margaret's  life.  It  was  stated,  that  she  was  a 
Scotchwoman  by  birth,  and  married  a soldier  ic 
the  Cameronian  regiment  — that  she  long  followed 
the  camp,  and  had  doubtless  acquired  in  fields  of 
battle,  and  similar  scenes,  that  ferocity  and  love  of 
plunder  for  which  she  had  been  afterwards  distin- 
guished— that  her  husband,  having  obtained  his 
discharge,  became  servant  to  a beneficed  clergyman 
of  high  situation  and  character  in  Lincolnshire,  and 
that  she  acquired  the  confidence  and  esteem  of  that 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN. 


353 


honourable  family  She  had  lost  this  many  years 
after  her  husband’s  death,  it  was  stated,  in  conse- 
quence of  conniving  at  the  irregularities  of  her 
daughter  with  the  heir  of  the  family,  added  to  the 
suspicious  circumstances  attending  the  birth  of  a 
child,  which  was  strongly  suspected  to  have  met 
with  foul  play,  in  order  to  preserve,  if  possible,  the 
girl’s  reputation.  After  this,  she  had  led  a wan- 
dering life  both  in  England  and  Scotland,  under 
colour  sometimes  of  telling  fortunes,  sometimes  of 
driving  a trade  in  smuggled  wares,  but,  in  fact, 
receiving  stolen  goods,  and  occasionally  actively 
joining  in  the  exploits  by  which  they  were  obtained 
Many  of  her  crimes  she  had  boasted  of  after  convic- 
tion, and  there  was  one  circumstance  for  which  she 
seemed  to  feel  a mixture  of  joy  and  occasional  com- 
punction. When  she  was  residing  in  the  suburbs 
of  Edinburgh  during  the  preceding  summer,  a girl, 
who  had  been  seduced  by  one  of  her  confederates, 
was  intrusted  to  her  charge,  and  in  her  house  deliv- 
ered of  a male  infant.  Her  daughter,  whose  mind 
was  in  a state  of  derangement  ever  since  she  had 
lost  her  own  child,  according  to  the  criminal’s  ac- 
count, carried  off  the  poor  girl’s  infant,  taking  it  for 
her  own,  of  the  reality  of  whose  death  she  at  times 
could  not  be  persuaded. 

Margaret  Murdockson  stated,  that  she,  for  some 
time,  believed  her  daughter  had  actually  destroyed 
the  infant  in  her  mad  fits,  and  that  she  gave  the 
father  to  understand  so,  but  afterwards  learned  that 
a female  stroller  had  got  it  from  her.  She  showed 
some  compunction  at  having  separated  mother  and 
child,  especially  as  the  mother  had  nearly  suffered 
death,  being  condemned,  on  the  Scotch  law,  for  the 
supposed  murder  of  her  infant.  When  it  was  asked 


354 


TALES  OE  MY  LANDLORD. 


what  possible  interest  she  could  have  had  in  expos- 
ing the  unfortunate  girl  to  suffer  for  a crime  she 
had  not  committed,  she  asked,  if  they  thought  she 
was  going  to  put  her  own  daughter  into  trouble  to 
save  another  ? She  did  not  know  what  the  Scotch 
law  would  have  done  to  her  for  carrying  the  child 
away.  This  answer  was  by  no  means  satisfactory 
to  the  clergyman,  and  he  discovered,  by  close  exami- 
nation, that  she  had  a deep  and  revengeful  hatred 
against  the  young  person  whom  she  had  thus  in- 
jured. But  the  paper  intimated,  that,  whatever  be- 
sides she  had  communicated  upon  this  subject,  was 
confided  by  her  in  private  to  the  worthy  and  rever- 
end Archdeacon  who  had  bestowed  such  particular 
pains  in  affording  her  spiritual  assistance.  The 
broadside  went  on  to  intimate,  that,  after  her  exe- 
cution, of  which  the  particulars  were  given,  her 
daughter,  the  insane  person  mentioned  more  than  , 
once,  and  who  was  generally  known  by  the  name 
of  Madge  Wildfire,  had  been  very  ill  used  by  the 
populace,  under  the  belief  that  she  was  a sorceress, , 
and  an  accomplice  in  her  mother  s crimes,  and  had 
been  with  difficulty  rescued  by  the  prompt  interfer- 
ence of  the  police. 

Such  (for  we  omit  moral  reflections,  and  all  that 
may  seem  unnecessary  to  the  explanation  of  our 
story)  was  the  tenor  of  the  broadside.  To  Mrs.  < 
Butler  it  contained  intelligence  of  the  highest  im- 
portance, since  it  seemed  to  afford  the  most  unequi- 
vocal proof  of  her  sister’s  innocence  respecting  the 
crime  for  which  she  had  so  nearly  suffered.  It  is 
true,  neither  she,  nor  her  husband,  nor  even  her 
father,  had  ever  believed  her  capable  of  touching 
her  infant  with  an  unkind  hand  when  in  possession 
of  her  reason  ; but  there  was  a darkness  on  the  sub' 


THE  HEART  OE  M1D-LOTIJ IAN. 


355 


ject,  and  what  might  have  happened  in  a moment  of 
insanity  was  dreadful  to  think  upon.  Besides,  what- 
ever was  their  own  conviction,  they  had  no  means 
of  establishing  Effie’s  innocence  to  the  world,  which, 
according  to  the  tenor  of  this  fugitive  publication, 
was  now  at  length  completely  manifested  by  the 
dying  confession  of  the  person  chiefly  interested  in 
concealing  it. 

After  thanking  God  for  a discovery  so  dear  to 
her  feelings,  Mrs.  Butler  began  to  consider  what 
use  she  should  make  of  it.  To  have  shown  it  to 
her  husband  would  have  been  her  first  impulse  ; but, 
besides  that  he  was  absent  from  home,  and  the 
matter  too  delicate  to  be  the  subject  of  correspon- 
dence by  an  indifferent  pen  woman,  Mrs.  Butler  rec- 
ollected that  he  was  not  possessed  of  the  information 
necessary  to  form  a judgment  upon  the  occasion ; 
and  that,  adhering  to  the  rule  which  she  had  con- 
sidered as  most  advisable,  she  had  best  transmit 
the  information  immediately  to  her  sister,  and  leave 
her  to  adjust  with  her  husband  the  mode  in  which 
they  should  avail  themselves  of  it.  Accordingly, 
she  dispatched  a special  messenger  to  Glasgow,  with 
a packet,  enclosing  the  Confession  of  Margaret 
Murdockson,  addressed,  as  usual,  under  cover,  to 
Mr.  Whiterose  of  York.  She  expected,  with  anxiety, 
an  answer,  but  none  arrived  in  the  usual  course  of 
post,  and  she  was  left  to  imagine  how  many  various 
causes  might  account  for  Lady  Staunton’s  silence. 
She  began  to  be  half  sorry  that  she  had  parted  with 
the  printed  paper,  both  for  fear  of  its  having  fallen 
into  bad  hands,  and  from  the  desire  of  regaining 
the  document,  which  might  be  essential  to  establish 
her  sister’s  innocence.  She  was  even  doubting 
whether  she  had  not  better  commit  the  whole  mat- 


356 


TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 


ter  to  her  husband's  consideration,  when  other  in- 
cidents occurred  to  divert  her  purpose. 

Jeanie  (she  is  a favourite,  and  we  beg  her  pardon 
for  still  using  the  familiar  title)  had  walked  down 
to  the  sea-side  with  her  children  one  morning  after 
breakfast,  when  the  boys,  whose  sight  was  more 
discriminating  than  hers,  exclaimed,  that  “ the  Cap- 
tain's coach  and  six  was  coming  right  for  the  shore, 
with  ladies  in  it.”  Jeanie  instinctively  bent  her 
eyes  on  the  approaching  boat,  and  became  soon  sen- 
sible that  there  were  two  females  in  the  stern,  seated 
beside  the  gracious  Duncan,  who  acted  as  pilot. 

It  was  a point  of  politeness  to  walk  towards  the 
landing-place,  in  order  to  receive  them,  especially 
as  she  saw  that  the  Captain  of  Knockdunder  was 
upon  honour  and  ceremony.  His  piper  was  in 
the  bow  of  the  boat,  sending  forth  music,  of  which 
one  half  sounded  the  better  that  the  other  was 
drowned  by  the  waves  and  the  breeze.  Moreover, 
he  himself  had  his  brigadier  wig  newly  frizzed,  his 
bonnet  (he  had  abjured  the  cocked-hat)  decorated 
with  Saint  George's  red  cross,  his  uniform  mounted 
as  a captain  of  militia,  the  Duke’s  flag  with  the  boar’s 
head  displayed  — all  intimated  parade  and  gala. 

As  Mrs.  Butler  approached  the  landing-place,  she 
observed  the  Captain  hand  the  ladies  ashore  with 
marks  of  great  attention,  and  the  parties  advanced  \ 
towards  her,  the  Captain  a few  steps  before  the  two 
ladies,  of  whom  the  taller  and  elder  leaned  on  the 
shoulder  of  the  other,  who  seemed  to  be  an  attend- 
ant or  servant. 

As  they  met,  Duncan,  in  his  best,  most  important, 
and  deepest  tone  of  Highland  civility,  “ pegged 
leave  to  introduce  to  Mrs.  Putler,  Lady  — eh  — eh 
— I hae  forgotten  your  leddyship’s  name  ! ” 


THE  HEART  OE  MID-LOTHIAN. 


357 


" Never  mind  my  name,  sir,”  said  the  lady  ; “ I 
trust  Mrs.  Butler  will  be  at  no  loss.  The  Duke’s 

letter” And,  as  she  observed  Mrs.  Butler  look 

confused,  she  said  again  to  Duncan  something 
sharply,  aDid  you  not  send  the  letter  last  night, 
sir  ? ” 

“ In  troth  and  I didna,  and  I crave  your  leddy- 
ship’s  pardon;  but  you  see,  matam,  I thought  it 
would  do  as  weel  to-tay,  pecause  Mrs.  Butler  is 
never  taen  out  o’  sorts  — never  — and  the  coach  was 
out  fishing  — and  the  gig  was  gane  to  Greenock  for 

a cag  of  prandy  — and Put  here’s  his  Grace’s 

letter.” 

“Give  it  me,  sir,”  said  the  lady,  taking  it  out  of 
his  hand ; “ since  you  have  not  found  it  convenient 
to  do  me  the  favour  to  send  it  before  me,  I will 
deliver  it  myself.” 

Mrs.  Butler  looked  with  great  attention,  and  a 
certain  dubious  feeling  of  deep  interest,  on  the  lady, 
who  thus  expressed  herself  with  authority  over  the 
man  of  authority,  and  to  whose  mandates  he  seemed 
to  submit,  resigning  the  letter  with  a “Just  as  your 
leddyship  is  pleased  to  order  it.” 

The  lady  was  rather  above  the  middle  size,  beau- 
tifully made,  though  something  embonpoint , with  a 
hand  and  arm  exquisitely  formed.  Her  manner 
was  easy,  dignified,  and  commanding,  and  seemed 
to  evince  high  birth  and  the  habits  of  elevated  so- 
ciety. She  wore  a travelling  dress  — a grey  beaver 
hat,  and  a veil  of  Flanders  lace.  Two  footmen, 
in  rich  liveries,  who  got  out  of  the  barge,  and  lifted 
out  a trunk  and  portmanteau,  appeared  to  belong 
to  her  suite. 

“ As  you  did  not  receive  the  letter,  madam,  which 
should  have  served  for  my  introduction  — for  I pre- 


358 


TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 


sume  you  are  Mrs.  Butler  — I will  not  present  it  to 
you  till  you  are  so  good  as  to  admit  me  into  your 
house  without  it.” 

“To  pe  sure,  matam,”  said  Knockdunder,  “ye 
canna  doubt  Mrs.  Putler  will  do  that.  — Mrs.  Putler, 
this  is  Lady  — Lady  — these  tamn’d  Southern  names 
rin  out  o’  my  head  like  a stane  trowling  down  hill 
— put  I believe  she  is  a Scottish  woman  porn  — the 
mair  our  credit  — and  I presume  her  leddyship  is 
of  the  house  of ” 

“The  Duke  of  Argyle  knows  my  family  very 
well,  sir,”  said  the  lady,  in  a tone  which  seemed 
designed  to  silence  Duncan,  or,  at  any  rate,  which 
had  that  effect  completely. 

There  was  something  about  the  whole  of  this 
stranger’s  address,  and  tone,  and  manner,  which 
acted  upon  Jeanie’s  feelings  like  the  illusions  of  a 
dream,  that  teaze  us  with  a puzzling  approach  to 
reality.  Something  there  was  of  her  sister  in  the 
gait  and  manner  of  the  stranger,  as  well  as  in  the 
sound  of  her  voice,  and  something  also,  when,  lift- 
ing her  veil,  she  showed  features,  to  which,  changed 
as  they  were  in  expression  and  complexion,  she 
could  not  but  attach  many  remembrances. 

The  stranger  was  turned  of  thirty  certainly ; but 
so  well  were  her  personal  charms  assisted  by  the 
power  of  dress,  and  arrangement  of  ornament,  that 
she  might  well  have  passed  for  one-and-twenty. 
And  her  behaviour  was  so  steady  and  so  composed, 
that,  as  often  as  Mrs.  Butler  perceived  anew  some 
point  of  resemblance  to  her  unfortunate  sister,  so 
often  the  sustained  self-command  and  absolute  com- 
posure of  the  stranger  destroyed  the  ideas  which 
began  to  arise  in  her  imagination.  She  led  the  way 
silently  towards  the  Manse,  lost  in  a confusion  of 


THE  HEART  OP  MID-LOTHIAN. 


359 


reflections,  and  trusting  the  letter  with  which  she 
was  to  be  there  intrusted,  would  afford  her  satis- 
factory explanation  of  what  was  a most  puzzling 
and  embarrassing  scene. 

The  lady  maintained  in  the  meanwhile  the  man- 
ners of  a stranger  of  rank.  She  admired  the  vari- 
ous points  of  view  like  one  who  has  studied  nature, 
and  the  best  representations  of  art.  At  length  she 
took  notice  of  the  children. 

“ These  are  two  fine  young  mountaineers  — 
Yours,  madam,  I presume  ? ” 

Jeanie  applied  in  the  affirmative.  The  stranger 
sighed,  and  sighed  once  more  as  they  were  presented 
to  her  by  name. 

“ Come  here,  Femie,”  said  Mrs.  Butler,  “ and 
hold  your  head  up.” 

“ What  is  your  daughter’s  name,  madam  ? ” said 
the  lady. 

“Euphemia,  madam,”  answered  Mrs.  Butler. 

“ I thought  the  ordinary  Scottish  contraction  of 
the  name  had  been  Effie,”  replied  the  stranger,  in  a 
tone  which  went  to  Jeanie’s  heart ; for  in  that  single 
word  there  was  more  of  her  sister  — more  of  lang 
syne  ideas  — than  in  all  the  reminiscences  which 
her  own  heart  had  anticipated,  or  the  features  and 
manner  of  the  stranger  had  suggested. 

When  they  reached  the  Manse,  the  lady  gave 
Mrs.  Butler  the  letter  which  she  had  taken  out  of 
the  hands  of  Knockdunder ; and  as  she  gave  it  she 
pressed  her  hand,  adding  aloud,  “ Perhaps,  madam, 
you  will  have  the  goodness  to  get  me  a little  milk.” 

“ And  me  a drap  of  the  grey-peard,  if  you  please, 
Mrs.  Putler,”  added  Duncan. 

Mrs.  Butler  withdrew;  but,  deputing  to  May 
Hettley  and  to  David  the  supply  of  the  strangers’ 


360 


TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 


wants,  she  hastened  into  her  own  room  to  read  the 
letter.  The  envelope  was  addressed  iri  the  Duke 
of  Argyle’s  hand,  and  requested  Mrs.  Butler’s  at- 
tentions and  civility  to  a lady  of  rank,  a particu- 
lar friend  of  his  late  brother,  Lady  Staunton  of 
Willingham,  who,  being  recommended  to  drink 
goats’  whey  by  the  physicians,  was  to  honour  the 
Lodge  at  Boseneath  with  her  residence,  while  her 
husband  made  a short  tour  in  Scotland.  But  within 
the  same  cover,  which  had  been  given  to  Lady 
Staunton  unsealed,  was  a letter  from  that  lady,  in- 
tended to  prepare  her  sister  for  meeting  her,  and 
which,  but  for  the  Captain’s  negligence,  she  ought 
to  have  received  on  the  preceding  evening.  It 
stated  that  the  news  in  Jeanie’s  last  letter  had  been 
so  interesting  to  her  husband,  that  he  was  deter- 
mined to  enquire  farther  into  the  confession  made 
at  Carlisle,  and  the  fate  of  that  poor  innocent,  and 
that,  as  he  had  been  in  some  degree  successful,  she 
had,  by  the  most  earnest  entreaties,  extorted  rather 
than  obtained  his  permission,  under  promise  of  ob- 
serving the  most  strict  incognito,  to  spend  a week 
or  two  with  her  sister,  or  in  her  neighbourhood, 
while  he  was  prosecuting  researches,  to  which 
(though  it  appeared  to  her  very  vainly)  he  seemed 
to  attach  some  hopes  of  success. 

There  was  a postscript,  desiring  that  Jeanie 
would  trust  to  Lady  S.  the  management  of  their 
intercourse,  and  be  content  with  assenting  to  what 
she  should  propose.  After  reading  and  again  read- 
ing the  letter,  Mrs.  Butler  hurried  down  stairs,  di- 
vided  betwixt  the  fear  of  betraying  her  secret,  and 
the  desire  to  throw  herself  upon  her  sister’s  neck. 
Effie  received  her  with  a glance  at  once  affectionate 
and  cautionary,  and  immediately  proceeded  to  speak 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN. 


361 


“ I have  been  telling  Mr.  , Captain , 

this  gentleman,  Mrs.  Butler,  that  if  you  could  ac- 
commodate me  with  an  apartment  in  your  house, 
and  a place  for  Ellis  to  sleep,  and  for  the  two  men, 
it  would  suit  me  better  than  the  Lodge,  which  his 
Grace  has  so  kindly  placed  at  my  disposal.  I am 
advised  I should  reside  as  near  where  the  goats  feed 
as  possible.” 

“ I have  peen  assuring  my  Leddy,  Mrs.  Putler,” 
said  Duncan,  “that  though  it  could  not  discom- 
mode you  to  receive  any  of  his  Grace’s  visitors  01 
mine,  yet  she  had  mooch  petter  stay  at  the  Lodge  ; 
and  for  the  gaits,  the  creatures  can  be  fetched  there, 
in  respect  it  is  mair  fitting  they  suld  wait  upon  her 
Leddy  ship,  than  she  upon  the  like  of  them.” 

“ By  no  means  derange  the  goats  for  me,”  said 
Lady  Staunton ; “ I am  certain  the  milk  must  be 
much  better  here.”  And  this  she  said  with  languid 
negligence,  as  one  whose  slightest  intimation  of 
humour  is  to  bear  down  all  argument. 

Mrs.  Butler  hastened  to  intimate,  that  her  house, 
such  as  it  was,  was  heartily  at  the  disposal  of  Lady 
Staunton ; but  the  Captain  continued  to  remonstrate. 
“ The  Duke,”  he  said,  “ had  written  ” — 

“ I will  settle  all  that  with  his  Grace  ” — 

“ And  there  were  the  things  had  been  sent  down 
frae  Glasco  ” — 

“ Anything  necessary  might  be  sent  over  to  the 
Parsonage  — She  would  beg  the  favour  of  Mrs. 
Butler  to  show  her  an  apartment,  and  of  the  Captain 
to  have  her  trunks,  &c.  sent  over  from  Roseneath.” 
So  she  curtsied  off  poor  Duncan,  who  departed, 
saying  in  his  secret  soul,  “ Cot  tamn  her  English 
impudence  ! — she  takes  possession  of  the  minister’s 
house  as  an  it  were  her  ain  — and  speaks  to  shentle^ 


362 


TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD 


mens  as  if  they  were  pounden  servants,  and  pe 
tamn’d  to  her  ! — And  there’s  the  deer  that  was 
shot  too  — but  we  will  send  it  ower  to  the  Manse, 
whilk  will  pe  put  civil,  seeing  I hae  prought  worthy 
Mrs.  Putler  sic  a fliskmahoy.”  — And  with  these 
kind  intentions,  he  went  to  the  shore  to  give  his 
orders  accordingly. 

In  the  meantime,  the  meeting  of  the  sisters  was 
as  affectionate  as  it  was  extraordinary,  and  each 
evinced  her  feelings  in  the  way  proper  to  her  cha- 
racter. Jeanie  was  so  much  overcome  by  wonder, 
and  even  by  awe,  that  her  feelings  were  deep,  stun- 
ning, and  almost  overpowering.  Efhe,  on  the  other 
hand,  wept,  laughed,  sobbed,  screamed,  and  clapped 
her  hands  for  joy,  all  in  the  space  of  five  minutes, 
giving  way  at  once,  and  without  reserve,  to  a nat- 
ural excessive  vivacity  of  temper,  which  no  one, 
however,  knew  better  how  to  restrain  under  the 
rules  of  artificial  breeding. 

After  an  hour  had  passed  like  a moment  in  their 
expressions  of  mutual  affection,  Lady  Staunton 
observed  the  Captain  walking  with  impatient  steps 
below  the  window.  “ That  tiresome  Highland  fool 
has  returned  upon  our  hands,”  she  said.  “ I will 
pray  him  to  grace  us  with  his  absence/’ 

“ Hout  no  ! hout  no  ! ” said  Mrs.  Butler,  in  a tone 
of  entreaty ; “ ye  mauna  affront  the  Captain.” 

“ Affront  ? ” said  Lady  Staunton  ; “ nobody  is 
ever  affronted  at  what  I do  or  say,  my  dear. 
However,  I will  endure  him,  since  you  think  it 
proper.” 

The  Captain  was  accordingly  graciously  requested 
by  Lady  Staunton  to  remain  during  dinner.  Dur- 
ing this  visit  his  studious  and  punctilious  com- 
plaisance towards  the  lady  of  rank  was  happily 


THE  HEART  OE  MID-LOTHIAN. 


363 


contrasted  by  the  cavalier  air  of  civil  familiarity 
in  which  he  indulged  towards  the  minister’s 
wife. 

“ I have  not  been  able  to  persuade  Mrs.  Butler,” 
said  Lady  Staunton  to  the  Captain,  during  the  in- 
terval when  Jeanie  had  left  the  parlour,  “ to  let 
me  talk  of  making  any  recompense  for  storming 
her  house,  and  garrisoning  it  in  the  way  I have 
done.” 

“ Doubtless,  matam,”  said  the  Captain,  “ it  wad 
ill  pecome  Mrs.  Putler,  wha  is  a very  decent  pody, 
to  make  any  such  sharge  to  a lady  who  comes  from 
my  house,  or  his  Grace’s,  which  is  the  same  thing. 
— And,  speaking  of  garrisons,  in  the  year  forty- 
five,  I was  poot  with  a garrison  of  twenty  of  my 
lads  in  the  house  of  Inver-Garry,  whilk  had  near 
been  unhappily,  for  ” — 

“ I beg  your  pardon,  sir  — But  I wish  I could 
think  of  some  way  of  indemnifying  this  good  lady.” 
“0,  no  need  of  intemnifying  at  all  — no  trouble 
for  her,  nothing  at  all  — So,  peing  in  the  house  of 
Inver-Garry,  and  the  people  about  it  being  un- 
canny, I doubted  the  warst,  and  ” — 

“ Do  you  happen  to  know,  sir,”  said  Lady 
Staunton,  “ if  any  of  these  two  lads,  these  young 
Butlers,  I mean,  show  any  turn  for  the  army  ? ” 

“ Could  not  say,  indeed,  my  leddy,”  replied 
Knockdunder  — “So,  I knowing  the  people  to  pe 
unchancy,  and  not  to  lippen  to,  and  hearing  a 
pibroch  in  the  wood,  I pegan  to  pid  my  lads  look 
to  their  flints,  and  then  ” — 

“For,”  said  Lady  Staunton,  with  the  most  ruth- 
less disregard  to  the  narrative  which  she  mangled 
by  these  interruptions,  “ if  that  should  be  the  case, 
it  should  cost  Sir  George  but  the  asking  a pair  of 


3^4 


TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 


colours  for  one  of  them  at  the  War-office,  since  we 
have  always  supported  government,  and  never  had 
occasion  to  trouble  ministers/’ 

“ And  if  you  please,  my  leddy,”  said  Duncan, 
who  began  to  find  some  savour  in  this  proposal,  “ as 
I hae  a braw  weel-grown  lad  of  a nevoy,  ca’d  Dun- 
can MacGilligan,  that  is  as  pig  as  paith  the  Putler 
pairns  putten  thegither,  Sir  George  could  ask  a pair 
for  him  at  the  same  time,  and  it  wad  pe  put  ae 
asking  for  a’.” 

Lady  Staunton  only  answered  this  hint  with  a well- 
bred  stare,  which  gave  no  sort  of  encouragement. 

Jeanie,  who  now  returned,  was  lost  in  amaze- 
ment at  the  wonderful  difference  betwixt  the  help- 
less and  despairing  girl,  whom  she  had  seen 
stretched  on  a flock-bed  in  a dungeon,  expecting  a 
violent  and  disgraceful  death,  and  last  as  a forlorn 
exile  upon  the  midnight  beach,  with  the  elegant, 
well-bred,  beautiful  woman  before  her.  The  feat- 
ures, now  that  her  sister’s  veil  was  laid  aside,  did 
not  appear  so  extremely  different,  as  the  whole 
manner,  expression,  look,  and  bearing.  In  outside 
show.  Lady  Staunton  seemed  completely  a creature 
too  soft  and  fair  for  sorrow  to  have  touched  ; so 
much  accustomed  to  have  all  her  whims  complied 
with  by  those  around  her,  that  she  seemed  to  expect 
she  should  even  be  saved  the  trouble  of  forming 
them ; and  so  totally  unacquainted  with  contradic- 
tion, that  she  did  not  even  use  the  tone  of  self-will, 
since  to  breathe  a wish  was  to  have  it  fulfilled.  She 
made  no  ceremony  of  ridding  herself  of  Duncan  as 
soon  as  the  evening  approached ; but  complimented 
him  out  of  the  house  under  pretext  of  fatigue, 
with  the  utmost  nonchalance. 

When  they  were  alone,  her  sister  could  not  help 


THE  HEART  OE  MID-LOTHIAN.  365 

expressing  her  wonder  at  the  self-possession  with 
which  Lady  Staunton  sustained  her  part. 

“ I daresay  you  are  surprised  at  it,”  said  Lady 
Staunton  composedly ; “ for  you,  my  dear  Jeanie. 
have  been  truth  itself  from  your  cradle  upwards ; 
but  you  must  remember  that  I am  a liar  of  fifteen 
years’  standing,  and  therefore  must  by  this  time  be 
used  to  my  character.” 

In  fact,  during  the  feverish  tumult  of  feelings 
excited  during  the  two  or  three  first  days,  Mrs. 
Butler  thought  her  sister’s  manner  was  completely 
contradictory  of  the  desponding  tone  which  per- 
vaded her  correspondence.  She  was  moved  to  tears, 
indeed,  by  the  sight  of  her  father’s  grave,  marked 
by  a modest  stone,  recording  his  piety  and  inte- 
grity ; but  lighter  impressions  and  associations  had 
also  power  over  her.  She  amused  herself  with  vis- 
iting the  dairy,  in  which  she  had  so  long  been  as- 
sistant, and  was  so  near  discovering  herself  to  May 
Hettley,  by  betraying  her  acquaintance  with  the 
celebrated  receipt  for  Dunlop  cheese,  that  she  com- 
pared herself  to  Bedreddin  Hassan,  whom  the  vi- 
zier, his  father-in-law,  discovered  by  his  superlative 
skill  in  composing  cream-tarts  with  pepper  in  them. 
But  when  the  novelty  of  such  avocations  ceased  to 
amuse  her,  she  showed  to  her  sister  but  too  plainly, 
that  the  gaudy  colouring  with  which  she  veiled 
her  unhappiness  afforded  as  little  real  comfort,  as 
the  gay  uniform  of  the  soldier  when  it  is  drawn 
over  his  mortal  wound.  There  were  moods  and 
moments,  in  which  her  despondence  seems  to  ex- 
ceed even  that  which  she  herself  had  described  in 
her  letters,  and  which  too  well  convinced  Mrs.  But- 
ler how  little  her  sister’s  lot,  which  in  appearance 
was  so  brilliant,  was  in  reality  to  be  envied. 


366 


TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 


There  was  one  source,  however,  from  which  Lady 
Staunton  derived  a pure  degree  of  pleasure.  Gifted 
in  every  particular  with  a higher  degree  of  imagi- 
nation than  that  of  her  sister,  she  was  an  admirer 
of  the  beauties  of  nature,  a taste  which  compen- 
sates many  evils  to  those  who  happen  to  enjoy  it. 
Here  her  character  of  a fine  lady  stopped  short, 
where  she  ought  to  have 

“ Scream’d  at  ilk  cleugh,  and  screech’d  at  ilka  how, 

As  loud  as  she  had  seen  the  worrie-cow.” 

On  the  contrary,  with  the  two  boys  for  her  guides, 
she  undertook  long  and  fatiguing  walks  among  the 
neighbouring  mountains,  to  visit  glens,  lakes,  water- 
falls, or  whatever  scenes  of  natural  wonder  or 
beauty  lay  concealed  among  their  recesses.  It  is 
Wordsworth,  I think,  who,  talking  of  an  old  man 
under  difficulties,  remarks,  with  a singular  atten- 
tion to  nature, 

“ whether  it  was  care  that  spurred  him, 

God  only  knows  ; but  to  the  very  last, 

He  had  the  lightest  foot  in  Ennerdale.” 

In  the  same  manner,  languid,  listless,  and  un- 
happy, within  doors,  at  times  even  indicating  some- 
thing which  approached  near  to  contempt  of  the 
homely  accommodations  of  her  sister’s  house,  al- 
though she  instantly  endeavoured,  by  a thousand 
kindnesses,  to  atone  for  such  ebullitions  of  spleen, 
Lady  Staunton  appeared  to  feel  interest  and  energy 
while  in  the  open  air,  and  traversing  the  mountain 
landscapes  in  society  with  the  two  boys,  whose  ears 
she  delighted  with  stories  of  what  she  had  seen  in 
other  countries,  and  what  she  had  to  show  them  at 
Willingham  Manor.  And  they,  on  the  other  hand, 
exerted  themselves  in  doing  the  honours  of  Dunbar- 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN. 


3 67 


tonshire  to  the  lady  who  seemed  so  kind,  insomuch 
that  there  was  scarce  a glen  in  the  neighbouring 
hills  to  which  they  did  not  introduce  her. 

Upon  one  of  these  excursions,  while  Reuben 
was  otherwise  employed,  David  alone  acted  as  Lady 
Staunton’s  guide,  and  promised  to  show  her  a cas- 
cade in  the  hills,  grander  and  higher  than  any  they 
had  yet  visited.  It  was  a walk  of  live  long  miles, 
and  over  rough  ground,  varied,  however,  and  cheered, 
by  mountain  views,  and  peeps  now  of  the  Frith 
and  its  islands,  now  of  distant  lakes,  now  of  rocks 
and  precipices.  The  scene  itself,  too,  when  they 
reached  it,  amply  rewarded  the  labour  of  the  walk. 
A single  shoot  carried  a considerable  stream  over 
the  face  of  a black  rock,  which  contrasted  strongly 
in  colour  with  the  white  foam  of  the  cascade,  and, 
at  the  depth  of  about  twenty  feet,  another  rock 
intercepted  the  view  of  the  bottom  of  the  fall.  The 
water,  wheeling  out  far  beneath,  swept  round  the 
crag,  which  thus  bounded  their  view,  and  tumbled 
down  the  rocky  glen  in  a torrent  of  foam.  Those 
who  love  nature  always  desire  to  penetrate  into  its 
utmost  recesses,  and  Lady  Staunton  asked  David 
whether  there  was  not  some  mode  of  gaining  a view 
of  the  abyss  at  the  foot  of  the  fall.  He  said  that 
he  knew  a station  on  a shelf  on  the  further  side 
of  the  intercepting  rock,  from  which  the  whole 
waterfall  was  visible,  but  that  the  road  to  it  was 
steep  and  slippery  and  dangerous.  Bent,  however, 
on  gratifying  her  curiosity,  she  desired  him  to  lead 
the  way  ; and  accordingly  he  did  so  over  crag  and 
stone,  anxiously  pointing  out  to  her  the  resting- 
places  where  she  ought  to  step,  for  their  mode  of 
advancing  soon  ceased  to  be  walking,  and  became 
scrambling. 


368 


TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 


In  this  maimer,  clinging  like  sea-birds  to  the  face 
of  the  rock,  they  were  enabled  at  length  to  turn 
round  it,  and  came  full  in  front  of  the  fall,  which 
here  had  a most  tremendous  aspect,  boiling,  roaring, 
and  thundering  with  unceasing  din,  into  a black 
cauldron,  a hundred  feet  at  least  below  them,  which 
resembled  the  crater  of  a volcano.  The  noise,  the 
dashing  of  the  waters,  which  gave  an  unsteady  ap- 
pearance to  all  around  them,  the  trembling  even  of 
the  huge  crag  on  which  they  stood,  the  precarious- 
ness of  their  footing,  for  there  was  scarce  room  for 
them  to  stand  on  the  shelf  of  rock  which  they  had 
thus  attained,  had  so  powerful  an  effect  on  the 
senses  and  imagination  of  Lady  Staunton,  that  she 
called  out  to  David  she  was  falling,  and  would  in 
fact  have  dropped  from  the  crag  had  he  not  caught 
hold  of  her.  The  boy  was  bold  and  stout  of  his 
age  — still  he  was  but  fourteen  years  old,  and  as  his 
assistance  gave  no  confidence  to  Lady  Staunton, 
she  felt  her  situation  become  really  perilous.  The 
chance  was,  that,  in  the  appalling  novelty  of  the 
circumstances,  he  might  have  caught  the  infection 
of  her  panic,  in  which  case  it  is  likely  that  both 
must  have  perished.  She  now  screamed  with  ter- 
ror, though  without  hope  of  calling  any  one  to  her 
assistance.  To  her  amazement,  the  scream  was 
answered  by  a whistle  from  above,  of  a tone  so  clear 
and  shrill,  that  it  was  heard  even  amid  the  noise  of 
the  waterfall. 

In  this  moment  of  terror  and  perplexity,  a hu- 
man face,  black,  and  having  grizzled  hair  hanging 
down  over  the  forehead  and  cheeks,  and  mixing 
with  mustaches  and  a beard  of  the  same  colour,  and 
as  much  matted  and  tangled,  looked  down  on  then? 
from  a broken  part  of  the  rock  above. 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN. 


369 


“ It  is  The  Enemy ! ” said  the  boy,  who  had 
very  nearly  become  incapable  of  supporting  Lady 
Staunton. 

“ No,  no,”  she  exclaimed,  inaccessible  to  super- 
natural terrors,  and  restored  to  the  presence  of 
mind  of  which  she  had  been  deprived  by  the  dan- 
ger of  her  situation,  “ it  is  a man  — For  God’s  sake, 
my  friend,  help  us  ! ” 

The  face  glared  at  them,  but  made  no  answer  ; 
in  a second  or  two  afterwards,  another,  that  of  a 
young  lad,  appeared  beside  the  first,  equally  swart 
and  begrimed,  but  having  tangled  black  hair,  de- 
scending in  elf  locks,  which  gave  an  air  of  wildness 
and  ferocity  to  the  whole  expression  of  the  coun- 
tenance. Lady  Staunton  repeated  her  entreaties, 
clinging  to  the  rock  with  more  energy,  as  she  found 
that,  from  the  superstitious  terror  of  her  guide,  he 
became  incapable  of  supporting  her.  Her  words 
were  probably  drowned  in  the  roar  of  the  falling 
stream,  for,  though  she  observed  the  lips  of  the 
younger  being  whom  she  supplicated  move  as  he 
spoke  in  reply,  not  a word  reached  her  ear. 

A moment  afterwards  it  appeared  he  had  not 
mistaken  the  nature  of  her  supplication,  which,  in- 
deed, was  easy  to  be  understood  from  her  situation 
and  gestures.  The  younger  apparition  disappeared, 
and  immediately  after  lowered  a ladder  of  twisted 
osiers,  about  eight  feet  in  length,  and  made  signs 
to  David  to  hold  it  fast  while  the  lady  ascended. 
Despair  gives  courage,  and  finding  herself  in  this 
fearful  predicament,  Lady  Staunton  did  not  hesi- 
tate to  risk  the  ascent  by  the  precarious  means 
which  this  accommodation  afforded  ; and,  carefully 
assisted  by  the  person  who  had  thus  providentially 
come  to  her  aid,  she  reached  the  summit  in  safety. 


37° 


TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 


She  did  not,  however,  even  look  around  her  until 
she  saw  her  nephew  lightly  and  actively  follow  her 
example,  although  there  was  now  no  one  to  hold 
the  ladder  fast.  When  she  saw  him  safe  she  looked 
round,  and  could  not  help  shuddering  at  the  place 
and  company  in  which  she  found  herself. 

They  were  on  a sort  of  platform  of  rock,  sur- 
rounded on  every  side  by  precipices,  or  overhanging 
cliffs,  and  which  it  would  have  been  scarce  possible 
for  any  research  to  have  discovered,  as  it  did  not 
seem  to  be  commanded  by  any  accessible  position.  It 
was  partly  covered  by  a huge  fragment  of  stone, 
which,  having  fallen  from  the  cliffs  above,  had  been 
intercepted  by  others  in  its  descent,  and  jammed  so 
as  to  serve  for  a sloping  roof  to  the  further  part  of 
the  broad  shelf  or  platform  on  which  they  stood. 
A quantity  of  withered  moss  and  leaves,  strewed 
beneath  this  rude  and  wretched  shelter,  showed 
the  lairs,  — they  could  not  be  termed  the  beds,  — 
of  those  who  dwelt  in  this  eyry,  for  it  deserved  no 
other  name.  Of  these,  two  were  before  Lady 
Staunton.  One,  the  same  who  had  afforded  such 
timely  assistance,  stood  upright  before  them,  a tall, 
lathy,  young  savage ; his  dress  a tattered  plaid  and 
philabeg,  no  shoes,  no  stockings,  no  hat  or  bonnet, 
the  place  of  the  last  being  supplied  by  his  hair, 
twisted  and  matted  like  the  glible  of  the  ancient 
wild  Irish,  and,  like  theirs,  forming  a natural 
thickset,  stout  enough  to  bear  off  the  cut  of  a sword. 
Yet  the  eyes  of  the  lad  were  keen  and  sparkling ; 
his  gesture  free  and  noble,  like  that  of  all  savages. 
He  took  little  notice  of  David  Butler,  but  gazed 
with  wonder  on  Lady  Staunton,  as  a being  differ- 
ent probably  in  dress,  and  superior  in  beauty,  to 
any  thing  he  had  ever  beheld.  The  old  man,  whose 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN. 


37i 


face  they  had  first  seen,  remained  recumbent  in  the 
same  posture  as  when  he  had  first  looked  down  on 
them,  only  his  face  was  turned  towards  them  as  he 
lay  and  looked  up  with  a lazy  and  listless  apathy, 
which  belied  the  general  expression  of  his  dark 
and  rugged  features.  He  seemed  a very  tall  man, 
but  was  scarce  better  clad  than  the  younger.  He 
had  on  a loose  Lowland  great-coat,  and  ragged 
tartan  trews  or  pantaloons. 

All  around  looked  singularly  wild  and  unpropi- 
tious.  Beneath  the  brow  of  the  incumbent  rock 
was  a charcoal  fire,  on  which  there  was  a still  work- 
ing, with  bellows,  pincers,  hammers,  a movable 
anvil,  and  other  smith’s  tools ; three  guns,  with  two 
or  three  sacks  and  barrels,  were  disposed  against 
the  wall  of  rock,  under  shelter  of  the  superincum- 
bent crag  ; a dirk  and  two  swords,  and  a Lochaber- 
axe,  lay  scattered  around  the  fire,  of  which  the 
red  glare  cast  a ruddy  tinge  on  the  precipitous  foam 
and  mist  of  the  cascade.  The  lad,  when  he  had 
satisfied  his  curiosity  with  staring  at  Lady  Staun- 
ton, fetched  an  earthen  jar  and  a horn  cup,  into 
which  he  poured  some  spirits,  apparently  hot  from 
the  still,  and  offered  them  successively  to  the  lady 
and  to  the  boy.  Both  declined,  and  the  young 
savage  quaffed  off  the  draught,  which  could  not 
amount  to  less  than  three  ordinary  glasses.  He 
then  fetched  another  ladder  from  the  corner  of  the 
cavern,  if  it  could  be  termed  so,  adjusted  it  against 
the  transverse  rock,  which  served  as  a roof,  and 
made  signs  for  the  lady  to  ascend  it,  while  he  held 
it  fast  below.  She  did  so,  and  found  herself  on 
the  top  of  a broad  rock,  near  the  brink  of  the  chasm 
into  which  the  brook  precipitates  itself.  She  could 
see  the  crest  of  the  torrent  flung  loose  down  the 


372 


TALES  OE  MY  LANDLORD. 


rock,  like  the  mane  of  a wild  horse,  but  without 
having  any  view  of  the  lower  platform  from  which 
she  had  ascended. 

David  was  not  suffered  to  mount  so  easily  ; the 
lad,  from  sport  or  love  of  mischief,  shook  the  lad- 
der a good  deal  as  he  ascended,  and  seemed  to  en- 
joy the  terror  of  young  Butler,  so  that,  when  they 
had  both  come  up,  they  looked  on  each  other  with 
no  friendly  eyes.  Neither,  however,  spoke.  The 
young  caird,  or  tinker,  or  gipsy,  with  a good  deal  of 
attention,  assisted  Lady  Staunton  up  a very  peril- 
ous ascent  which  she  had  still  to  encounter,  and 
they  were  followed  by  David  Butler,  until  all  three 
stood  clear  of  the  ravine  on  the  side  of  a mountain, 
whose  sides  were  covered  with  heather  and  sheets 
of  loose  shingle.  So  narrow  was  the  chasm  out  of 
which  they  ascended,  that,  unless  when  they  were 
on  the  very  verge,  the  eye  passed  to  the  other  side 
without  perceiving  the  existence  of  a rent  so  fear- 
ful, and  nothing  was  seen  of  the  cataract,  though 
its  deep  hoarse  voice  was  still  heard. 

Lady  Staunton,  freed  from  the  danger  of  rock 
and  river,  had  now  a new  subject  of  anxiety.  Her 
two  guides  confronted  each  other  with  angry  coun- 
tenances ; for  David,  though  younger  by  two  years 
at  least,  and  much  shorter,  was  a stout,  well-set, 
and  very  bold  boy. 

“ You  are  the  black-coat’s  son  of  Knocktarlitie,” 
said  the  young  caird ; “ if  you  come  here  again, 
I’ll  pitch  you  down  the  linn  like  a foot-ball.” 

“ Ay,  lad,  ye  are  very  short  to  be  sae  lang,”  re- 
torted young  Butler  undauntedly,  and  measuring 
his  opponent’s  height  with  an  undismayed  eye  ; “ I 
am  thinking  you  are  a gillie  of  Black  Donacha ; if  you 
come  down  the  glen,  we’ll  shoot  you  like  a wild  buck.” 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTIITAN. 


3 73 


“ You  may  tell  your  father,”  said  the  lad,  “ that 
the  leaf  on  the  timber  is  the  last  he  shall  see  — we 
will  hae  amends  for  the  mischief  he  has  done  to  us.” 

“ I hope  he  will  live  to  see  mony  simmers,  and  do 
ye  muckle  mair,”  answered  David. 

More  might  have  passed,  but  Lady  Staunton 
stepped  between  them  with  her  purse  in  her  hand, 
and,  taking  out  a guinea,  of  which  it  contained 
several,  visible  through  the  net-work,  as  well  as 
some  silver  in  the  opposite  end,  offered  it  to  the 
caird. 

“ The  white  siller,  lady  — the  white  siller,”  said 
the  young  savage,  to  whom  the  value  of  gold  was 
probably  unknown. 

Lady  Staunton  poured  what  silver  she  had  into 
his  hand,  and  the  juvenile  savage  snatched  it 
greedily,  and  made  a sort  of  half  inclination  of 
acknowledgment  and  adieu. 

“ Let  us  make  haste  now,  Lady  Staunton,”  said 
David,  “ for  there  will  be  little  peace  with  them 
since  they  hae  seen  your  purse.” 

They  hurried  on  as  fast  as  they  could  ; but  they 
had  not  descended  the  hill  a hundred  yards  or  two 
before  they  heard  a halloo  behind  them,  and  look- 
ing back,  saw  both  the  old  man  and  the  young  one 
pursuing  them  with  great  speed,  the  former  with  a 
gun  on  his  shoulder.  Very  fortunately,  at  this 
moment  a sportsman,  a gamekeeper  of  the  Duke, 
who  was  engaged  in  stalking  deer,  appeared  on  the 
face  of  the  hill.  The  bandits  stopped  on  seeing 
him,  and  Lady  Staunton  hastened  to  put  herself 
under  his  protection.  He  readily  gave  them  his 
escort  home,  and  it  required  his  athletic  form  and 
loaded  rifle  to  restore  to  the  lady  her  usual  com 
fidence  and  courage. 


374 


TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 


Donald  listened  with  much  gravity  to  the  account 
of  their  adventure  ; and  answered  with-  great  com- 
posure to  David’s  repeated  enquiries,  whether  he 
could  have  suspected  that  the  cairds  had  been  lurk- 
ing there,  — “ Inteed,  Master  Tavie,  I might  hae 
had  some  guess  that  they  w~ere  there,  or  there- 
about, though  maybe  I had  nane.  But  I am  aften 
on  the  hill ; and  they  are  like  wasps  — they  stang 
only  them  that  fashes  them;  sae,  for  my  part,  I 
make  a point  not  to  see  them,  unless  I were  ordered 
out  on  the  preceese  errand  by  MacCallummore  or 
Knockdunder,  whilk  is  a clean  different  case.” 

They  reached  the  Manse  late  ; and  Lady  Staunton, 
who  had  suffered  much  both  from  fright  and  fatigue, 
never  again  permitted  her  love  of  the  picturesque 
to  carry  her  so  far  among  the  mountains  without  a 
stronger  escort  than  David,  though  she  acknowledged 
he  had  won  the  stand  of  colours  by  the  intrepidity  he 
had  displayed,  so  soon  as  assured  he  had  to  do  with 
an  earthly  antagonist.  “ I couldna  maybe,  hae  made 
muckle  o’  a bargain  wi’  yon  lang  callant,”  said  David, 
when  thus  complimented  on  his  valour ; “ but  when 
ye  deal  wi’  thae  folk,  it’s  tyne  heart  tyne  a’ ” 


CHAPTEE  XXVII. 


What  see  you  there, 

That  hath  so  cowarded  and  chased  your  blood 
Out  of  appearance  \ 

Henry  the  Fifth . 

We  are  under  the  necessity  of  returning  to  Edin- 
burgh, where  the  General  Assembly  was  now  sitting. 
It  is  well  known,  that  some  Scottish  nobleman  is 
usually  deputed  as  High  Commissioner,  to  represent 
the  person  of  the  King  in  this  convocation  ; that 
he  has  allowances  for  the  purpose  of  maintaining  a 
certain  outward  show  and  solemnity,  and  support- 
ing the  hospitality  of  the  representative  of  Majesty. 
Whoever  is  distinguished  by  rank,  or  office,  in  or 
near  the  capital,  usually  attend  the  morning  levees 
of  the  Lord  ^Commissioner,  and  walk  with  him  in 
procession  to  the  place  where  the  Assembly  meets. 

The  nobleman  who  held  this  office  chanced  to  be 
particularly  connected  with  Sir  George  Staunton, 
and  it  was  in  his  train  that  he  ventured  to  tread 
the  High  Street  of  Edinburgh  for  the  first  time 
since  the  fatal  night  of  Porteous’s  execution. 
Walking  at  the  right  hand  of  the  representative 
of  Sovereignty,  covered  with  lace  and  embroidery, 
and  with  all  the  paraphernalia  of  wealth  and  rank, 
the  handsome  though  wasted  form  of  the  English 
stranger  attracted  all  eyes.  Who  could  have  recog- 
nised in  a form  so  aristocratic  the  plebeian  convict, 
that,  disguised  in  the  rags  of  Madge  Wildfire,  had 


37<5 


TALES  OE  MY  LANDLORD. 


led  the  formidable  rioters  to  their  destined  revenge ! 
There  was  no  possibility  that  this  could  happen, 
even  if  any  of  his  ancient  acquaintances,  a race  of 
men  whose  lives  are  so  brief,  had  happened  to  sur- 
vive the  span  commonly  allotted  to  evil-doers.  Be- 
sides, the  whole  affair  had  long  fallen  asleep,  with 
the  angry  passions  in  which  it  originated.  Nothing 
is  more  certain  than  that  persons  known  to  have 
had  a share  in  that  formidable  riot,  and  to  have  fled 
from  Scotland  on  that  account,  had  made  money 
abroad,  returned  to  enjoy  it  in  their  native  country, 
and  lived  and  died  undisturbed  by  the  law.1  The 
forbearance  of  the  magistrate  was  in  these  instances 
wise,  certainly,  and  just;  for  what  good  impression 
could  be  made  on  the  public  mind  by  punishment, 
when  the  memory  of  the  offence  was  obliterated, 
and  all  that  was  remembered  was  the  recent  in- 
offensive, or  perhaps  exemplary,  conduct  of  the 
offender  ? 

Sir  George  Staunton  might,  therefore,  tread  the 
scene  of  his  former  audacious  exploits,  free  from 
the  apprehension  of  the  law,  or  even  of  discovery  or 
suspicion.  But  with  what  feelings  his  heart  that 
day  throbbed,  must  be  left  to  those  of  the  reader  to 
imagine.  It  was  an  object  of  no  common  interest 
which  had  brought  him  to  encounter  so  many  pain- 
ful remembrances. 

In  consequence  of  Jeanie’s  letter  to  Lady  Staun- 
ton, transmitting  the  confession,  he  had  visited  the 
town  of  Carlisle,  and  had  found  Archdeacon  Flem- 
ing still  alive,  by  whom  that  confession  had  been 
received.  This  reverend  gentleman,  whose  charac- 
ter stood  deservedly  very  high,  he  so  far  admitted 
into  his  confidence,  as  to  own  himself  the  father 

1 See  Arnot's  Criminal  Trials,  4to  ed.  p.  235. 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN. 


377 


of  the  unfortunate  infant  which  had  been  spirited 
away  by  Madge  Wildfire,  representing  the  intrigue 
as  a matter  of  juvenile  extravagance  on  his  own 
part,  for  which  he  was  now  anxious  to  atone,  by 
tracing,  if  possible,  what  had  become  of  the  child. 
After  some  recollection  of  the  circumstances,  the 
clergyman  was  able  to  call  to  memory,  that  the 
unhappy  woman  had  written  a letter  to  George 
Staunton,  Esq.  younger,  Eectory,  Willingham,  by 
Grantham ; that  he  had  forwarded  it  to  the  address 
accordingly,  and  that  it  had  been  returned,  with  a 
note  from  the  Reverend  Mr.  Staunton,  Rector  of 
Willingham,  saying,  he  knew  no  such  person  as  him 
to  whom  the  letter  was  addressed.  As  this  had 
happened  just  at  the  time  when  George  had,  for  the 
last  time,  absconded  from  his  father’s  house  to  carry 
off  Effie,  he  was  at  no  loss  to  account  for  the  cause 
of  the  resentment,  under  the  influence  of  which  his 
father  had  disowned  him.  This  was  another  instance 
in  which  his  ungovernable  temper  had  occasioned  his 
misfortune ; had  he  remained  at  Willingham  but  a few 
days  longer,  he  would  have  received  Margaret  Mur- 
dockson’s  letter,  in  which  was  exactly  described  the 
person  and  haunts  of  the  woman,  Annaple  Bailzou, 
to  whom  she  had  parted  with  the  infant.  It  ap- 
peared that  Meg  Murdockson  had  been  induced  to 
make  this  confession,  less  from  any  feelings  of  con- 
trition, than  from  the  desire  of  obtaining,  through 
George  Staunton  or  his  father’s  means,  protection 
and  support  for  her  daughter  Madge.  Her  letter  to 
George  Staunton  said,  “ That  while  the  writer  lived, 
her  daughter  would  have  needed  nought  from  any 
body,  and  that  she  would  never  have  meddled  in 
these  affairs,  except  to  pay  back  the  ill  that  George 
had  done  to  her  and  hers.  But  she  was  to  die,  and 


378 


TALES  OE  MY  LAJMLLOiiJD. 


her  daughter  would  be  destitute,  and  without  reason 
to  guide  her.  She  had  lived  in  the  world  long  enough 
to  know  that  people  did  nothing  for  nothing ; — so 
she  had  told  George  Staunton  all  he  could  wish  to 
know  about  his  wean,  in  hopes  he  would  not  see  the 
demented  young  creature  he  had  ruined  perish  for 
want.  As  for  her  motives  for  not  telling  them 
sooner,  she  had  a long  account  to  reckon  for  in  the 
next  world,  and  she  would  reckon  for  that  too.” 

The  clergyman  said,  that  Meg  had  died  in  the 
same  desperate  state  of  mind,  occasionally  express- 
ing some  regret  about  the  child  which  was  lost,  but 
oftener  sorrow  that  the  mother  had  not  been  hanged 
— her  mind  at  once  a chaos  of  guilt,  rage,  and  ap- 
prehension for*  her  daughter’s  future  safety ; that 
instinctive  feeling  of  parental  anxiety  which  she 
had  in  common  with  the  she-wolf  and.  lioness, 
being  the  last  shade  of  kindly  affection  that  occu- 
pied a breast  equally  savage. 

The  melancholy  catastrophe  of  Madge  Wildfire 
was  occasioned  by  her  taking  the  confusion  of  her 
mother’s  execution,  as  affording  an  opportunity  of 
leaving  the  workhouse  to  which  the  clergyman  had 
sent  her,  and  presenting  herself  to  the  mob  in  their 
fury,  to  perish  in  the  way  we  have  already  seen. 
When  Dr.  Fleming  found  the  convict’s  letter  was 
returned  from  Lincolnshire,  he  wrote  to  a friend  in 
Edinburgh,  to  enquire  into  the  fate  of  the  unfor- 
tunate girl  whose  child  had  been  stolen,  and  was 
informed  by  his  correspondent,  that  she  had  been 
pardoned,  and  that,  with  all  her  family,  she  had  re- 
tired to  some  distant  part  of  Scotland,  or  left  the 
kingdom  entirely.  And  here  the  matter  rested, 
until,  at  Sir  George  Staunton’s  application,  the  cler- 
gyman looked  out,  and  produced  Margaret  Murdock- 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN. 


379 


son’s  returned  letter,  and  the  other  memoranda  which 
he  had  kept  concerning  the  affair. 

Whatever  might  be  Sir  George  Staunton’s  feel- 
ings in  ripping  up  this  miserable  history,  and  listen- 
ing to  the  tragical  fate  of  the  unhappy  girl  whom 
he  had  ruined,  he  had  so  much  of  his  ancient  wil- 
fulness of  disposition  left,  as  to  shut  his  eyes  on 
every  thing,  save  the  prospect  which  seemed  to 
open  itself  of  recovering  his  son.  It  was  true,  it 
would  be  difficult  to  produce  him,  without  telling 
much  more  of  the  history  of  his  birth,  and  the  mis- 
fortunes of  his  parents,  than  it  was  prudent  to  make 
known.  But  let  him  once  be  found,  and,  being 
found,  let  him  but  prove  worthy  of  his  father’s  pro- 
tection, and  many  ways  might  be  fallen  upon  to 
avoid  such  risk.  Sir  George  Staunton  was  at  lib- 
erty to  adopt  him  as  his  heir,  if  he  pleased,  without 
communicating  the  secret  of  his  birth ; or  an  act  of 
parliament  might  be  obtained,  declaring  him  legiti- 
mate, and  allowing  him  the  name  and  arms  of  his 
father.  He  was,  indeed,  already  a legitimate  child 
according  to  the  law  of  Scotland,  by  the  subsequent 
marriage  of  his  parents.  Wilful  in  every  thing,  Sir 
George’s  sole  desire  now  was  to  see  this  son,  even 
should  his  recovery  bring  with  it  a new  series  of 
misfortunes,  as  dreadful  as  those  which  followed 
on  his  being  lost. 

But  where  was  the  youth  who  might  eventually 
be  called  to  the  honours  and  estates  of  this  ancient 
family  ? On  what  heath  was  he  wandering,  and 
shrouded  by  what  mean  disguise  ? Did  he  gain  his 
precarious  bread  by  some  petty  trade,  by  menial 
toil,  by  violence,  or  by  theft?  These  were  ques- 
tions on  which  Sir  George’s  anxious  investigations 
could  obtain  no  light.  Many  remembered  that 


3^o 


TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 


Annaple  Bailzou  wandered  through  the  country  as 
a beggar  and  fortune-teller,  or  spae-wife  — some 
remembered  that  she  had  been  seen  with  an  infant 
in  1737  or  1738,  but  for  more  than  ten  years  she 
had  not  travelled  that  district ; and  that  she  had 
been  heard  to  say  she  was  going  to  a distant  part  of 
Scotland,  of  which  country  she  was  a native.  To 
Scotland,  therefore,  came  Sir  George  Staunton,  hav- 
ing parted  with  his  lady  at  Glasgow ; and  his  arri- 
val at  Edinburgh  happening  to  coincide  with  the 
sitting  of  the  General  Assembly  of  the  Kirk,  his 
acquaintance  with  the  nobleman  who  held  the  office 
of  Lord  High  Commissioner  forced  him  more  into 
public  than  suited  either  his  views  or  inclinations. 

At  the  public  table  of  this  nobleman,  Sir  George 
Staunton  was  placed  next  to  a clergyman  of  respect- 
able appearance,  and  well-bred,  though  plain  de- 
meanour, whose  name  he  discovered  to  be  Butler. 
It  had  been  no  part  of  Sir  George’s  plan  to  take 
his  brother-in-law  into  his  confidence,  and  he  had 
rejoiced  exceedingly  in  the  assurances  he  received 
from  his  wife,  that  Mrs.  Butler,  the  very  soul  of 
integrity  and  honour,  had  never  suffered  the  account 
he  had  given  of  himself  at  Willingham  Rectory  to 
transpire,  even  to  her  husband.  But  he  was  not 
sorry  to  have  an  opportunity  to  converse  with  so 
near  a connexion,  without  being  known  to  him,  and 
to  form  a judgment  of  his  character  and  under- 
standing. He  saw  much,  and  heard  more,  to  raise 
Butler  very  high  in  his  opinion.  He  found  he  was 
generally  respected  by  those  of  his  own  profession, 
as  well  as  by  the  laity  who  had  seats  in  the  Assem- 
bly. He  had  made  several  public  appearances  in 
the  Assembly,  distinguished  by  good  sense,  can- 
dour, and  ability;  and  he  was  followed  and  ad- 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN.  381 

mired  as  a sound,  and,  at  the  same  time,  an  eloquent 
preacher. 

This  was  all  very  satisfactory  to  Sir  George 
Staunton’s  pride,  which  had  revolted  at  the  idea 
of  his  wife’s  sister  being  obscurely  married.  He 
now  began,  on  the  contrary,  to  think  the  connexion 
so  much  better  than  he  expected,  that,  if  it  should 
be  necessary  to  acknowledge  it,  in  consequence  of 
the  recovery  of  his  son,  it  would  sound  well  enough 
that  Lady  Staunton  had  a sister,  who,  in  the  de- 
cayed state  of  the  family,  had  married  a Scottish 
clergyman,  high  in  the  opinion  of  his  countrymen, 
and  a leader  in  the  church. 

It  was  with  these  feelings,  that,  when  the  Lord 
High  Commissioner’s  company  broke  up,  Sir  George 
Staunton,  under  pretence  of  prolonging  some  enquir- 
ies concerning  the  constitution  of  the  Church  of 
Scotland,  requested  Butler  to  go  home  to  his  lodg- 
ings in  the  Lawnmarket,  and  drink  a cup  of  coffee. 
Butler  agreed  to  wait  upon  him,  providing  Sir 
George  would  permit  him,  in  passing,  to  call  at  a 
friend’s  house  where  he  resided,  and  make  his 
apology  for  not  coming  to  partake  her  tea.  They 
proceeded  up  the  High  Street,  entered  the  Krames, 
and  passed  the  begging-box,  placed  to  remind  those 
at  liberty  of  the  distresses  of  the  poor  prisoners. 
Sir  George  paused  there  one  instant,  and  next  day 
a L.20  note  was  found  in  that  receptacle  for  public 
charity. 

When  he  came  up  to  Butler  again,  he  found  him 
with  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  entrance  of  the  Tolbooth, 
and  apparently  in  deep  thought. 

“ That  seems  a very  strong  door,”  said  Sil 
George,  by  way  of  saying  something. 

“ It  is  so,  sir,”  said  Butler,  turning  off  and  begin- 


382 


TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 


niiig  to  walk  forward,  “ but  it  was  my  misfortune 
at  one  time  to  see  it  prove  greatly  too  weak.” 

At  this  moment,  looking  at  his  companion,  he 
asked  him  whether  he  felt  himself  ill?  and  Sir 
George  Staunton  admitted,  that  he  had  been  so 
foolish  as  to  eat  ice,  which  sometimes  disagreed 
with  him.  /With  kind  officiousness,  that  would  not 
be  gainsaid,  and  ere  he  could  find  out  where  he 
was  going,  Butler  hurried  Sir  George  into  the 
friend’s  house,  near  to  the  prison,  in  which  he  him- 
self had  lived  since  he  came  to  town,  being,  indeed, 
no  other  than  that  of  our  old  friend  Bartoline 
Saddletree,  in  which  Lady  Staunton  had  served  a 
short  noviciate  as  a shop-maid.  This  recollection 
rushed  on  her  husband’s  mind,  and  the  blush  of 
shame  which  it  excited  overpowered  the  sensation 
of  fear  which  had  produced  his  former  paleness. 
Good  Mrs.  Saddletree,  however,  bustled  about  to 
receive  the  rich  English  baronet  as  the  friend  of  Mr. 
Butler,  and  requested  an  elderly  female  in  a black 
gown  to  sit  still,  in  a way  which  seemed  to  imply  a 
wish,  that  she  would  clear  the  way  for  her  betters. 
In  the  meanwhile,  understanding  the  state  of  the 
case,  she  ran  to  get  some  cordial  waters,  sovereign, 
of  course,  in  all  cases  of  faintishness  whatsoever. 
During  her  absence,  her  visitor,  the  female  in  black, 
made  some  progress  out  of  the  room,  and  might 
have  left  it  altogether  without  particular  observa- 
tion, had  she  not  stumbled  at  the  threshold,  so  near 
Sir  George  Staunton,  that  he,  in  point  of  civility, 
raised  her  and  assisted  her  to  the  door. 

“ Mrs,  Porteous  is  turned  very  doited  now,  puir 
body,”  said  Mrs.  Saddletree,  as  she  returned  with 
her  bottle  in  her  hand  — “ She  is  no  sae  auld,  but 
she  got  a sair  back-cast  wi’  the  slaughter  o’  her 


THE  HEART  OE  MID-LOTHIAN. 


383 


husband  — Ye  had  some  trouble  about  that  job,  Mr 
Butler. — I think,  sir,”  to  Sir  George,  “ ye  had 
better  drink  out  the  haill  glass,  for  to  my  een  ye 
look  waur  than  when  ye  come  in.” 

And,  indeed,  he  grew  as  pale  as  a corpse,  on 
recollecting  who  it  was  that  his  arm  had  so  lately 
supported  — the  widow  whom  he  had  so  large  a 
share  in  making  such. 

“ It  is  a prescribed  job  that  case  of  Porteous 
now,”  said  old  Saddletree,  who  was  confined  to  his 
chair  by  the  gout  — “ clean  prescribed  and  out  of 
date.” 

“ I am  not  clear  of  that,  neighbour,”  said  Plum- 
damas,  “for  I have  heard  them  say  twenty  years 
should  rin,  and  this  is  but  the  fifty-ane  — Porteous’s 
mob  was  in  tliretty-seven.” 

“ Ye’ll  no  teach  me  law,  I think,  neighbour  — 
me  that  has  four  gaun  pleas,  and  might  hae  had 
fourteen,  an  it  hadna  been  the  gudewife  ? I tell  ye 
if  the  foremost  of  the  Porteous  mob  were  standing 
there  where  that  gentleman  stands,  the  King’s  Ad- 
vocate wadna  meddle<  wi’  him  — it  fa’s  under  the 
negative  prescription.” 

“Haud  your  din,  carles,”  said  Mrs.  Saddletree, 
“ and  let  the  gentleman  sit  down  and  get  a dish  of 
comfortable  tea.” 

But  Sir  George  had  had  quite  enough  of  their 
conversation  ; and  Butler,  at  his  request,  made  an 
apology  to  Mrs.  Saddletree,  and  accompanied  him 
to  his  lodgings.  Here  they  found  another  guest  wait- 
ing Sir  George  Staunton’s  return.  This  was  no 
other  than  our  reader’s  old  acquaintance  Ratcliffe. 

This  man  had  exercised  the  office  of  turnkey 
with  so  much  vigilance,  acuteness,  and  fidelity,  that 
he  gradually  rose  to  be  governor  or  captain  of  the 


384 


TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 


Tolbooth.  And  it  is  yet  remembered  in  tradition, 
that  young  men,  who  rather  sought  amusing  than 
select  society  in  their  merry-meetings,  used  some- 
times to  request  Ratcliffe’s  company,  in  order  that 
he  might  regale  them  with  legends  of  his  extraor- 
dinary feats  in  the  way  of  robbery  and  escape.1 * * * * * * 
But  he  lived  and  died  without  resuming  his  ori- 
ginal vocation,  otherwise  than  in  his  narratives  over 
a bottle. 

Under  these  circumstances,  he  had  been  recom- 
mended to  Sir  George  Staunton  by  a man  of  the 
law  in  Edinburgh,  as  a person  likely  to  answer  any 
questions  he  might  have  to  ask  about  Annaple 
Bailzou,  who,  according  to  the  colour  which  Sir 
George  Staunton  gave  to  his  cause  of  enquiry,  was 
supposed  to  have  stolen  a child  in  the  west  of  Eng-  1 
land,  belonging  to  a family  in  which  he  was  inter- 
ested. The  gentleman  had  not  mentioned  his 
name,  but  only  his  official  title  ; so  that  Sir  George 
Staunton,  when  told  that  the  captain  of  the  Tol- 
booth was  waiting  for  him  in  his  parlour,  had  no 
idea  of  meeting  his  former  acquaintance,  Jem 
Ratcliffe. 

This,  therefore,  was  another  new  and  most  un- 
pleasant surprise,  for  he  had  no  difficulty  in  recol- 
lecting this  man's  remarkable  features.  The  change 
however,  from  George  Robertson  to  Sir  George 
Staunton,  baffled  even  the  penetration  of  Ratcliffe, 

1 There  seems  an  anachronism  in  the  history  of  this  person. 

Ratcliffe,  among  other  escapes  from  justice,  was  released  by  the 

Porteous  mob  when  under  sentence  of  death  ; and  he  was 

again  under  the  same  predicament  when  the  Highlanders  made 

a similar  jail-delivery  in  1745.  He  wTas  too  sincere  a whig  to 

embrace  liberation  at  the  hands  of  the  Jacobites,  and  in  reward 

was  made  one  of  the  keepers  of  the  Tolbooth.  So  at  least  runs 

a constant  tradition. 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN. 


3^5 

and  he  bowed  very  low  to  the  baronet  and  his  guest, 
hoping  Mr.  Butler  would  excuse  his  recollecting 
that  he  was  an  old  acquaintance. 

“And  once  rendered  my  wife  a piece  of  great 
service,”  said  Mr.  Butler,  “ for  which  she  sent  you 
a token  of  grateful  acknowledgment,  which  I hope 
came  safe  and  was  welcome.” 

“ Deil  a doubt  on’t,”  said  Ratcliffe,  with  a know- 
ing nod ; “but  ye  are  muckle  changed  for  the  bet- 
ter since  I saw  ye,  Maister  Butler.” 

“So  much  so,  that  I wonder  you  knew  me.” 

“ Aha,  then  ! — Deil  a face  I see  I ever  forget,” 
said  Ratcliffe ; while  Sir  George  Staunton,  tied  to 
the  stake,  and  incapable  of  escaping,  internally 
cursed  the  accuracy  of  his  memory.  “ And  yet. 
sometimes,”  continued  Ratcliffe,  “ the  sharpest 
hand  will  be  ta’en  in.  There  is  a face  in  this  very 
room,  if  I might  presume  to  be  sae  bauld,  that 
if  I didna  ken  the  honourable  person  it  belangs  to 

— I might  think  it  had  some  cast  of  an  auld 
acquaintance.” 

“ I should  not  be  much  flattered,”  answered  the 
Baronet  sternly,  and  roused  by  the  risk  in  which 
he  saw  himself  placed,  “ if  it  is  to  me  you  mean  to 
apply  that  compliment.” 

“By  no  manner  of  means,  sir,”  said  Ratcliffe, 
bowing  very  low;  “I  am  come  to  receive  your 
honour’s  commands,  and  no  to  trouble  your  honour 
wi’  my  poor  observations.” 

“Well,  sir,”  said  Sir  George,  “I  am  told  you 
understand  police  matters  — So  do  I.  — To  convince 
you  of  which,  here  are  ten  guineas  of  retaining  fee 

— I make  them  fifty  when  you  can  find  me  certain 
notice  of  a person,  living  or  dead,  whom  you  will 
find  described  in  that  paper.  I shall  leave  town 


386 


TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 


presently — you  may  send  your  written  answer  to 

me  to  the  care  of  Mr. ,”  (naming  his  highly 

respectable  agent,)  “ or  of  his  Grace  the  Lord  High 
Commissioner.”  Ratcliffe  bowed  and  withdrew. 

“ I have  angered  the  proud  peat  now,”  he  said  to 
himself,  “ by  finding  out  a likeness  — but  if  George 
Robertson's  father  had  lived  within  a mile  of  his 
mother,  d— n me  if  I should  not  know  what  to 
think,  for  as  high  as  he  carries  his  head.” 

When  he  was  left  alone  with  Butler,  Sir  George 
Staunton  ordered  tea  and  coffee,  which  were  brought 
by  his  valet,  and  then,  after  considering  with  him- 
self for  a minute,  asked  his  guest  whether  he  had 
lately  heard  from  his  wife  and  family.  Butler,  with 
some  surprise  at  the  question,  replied,  “ that  he  had 
received  no  letter  for  some  time;  his  wife  was  a 
poor  pen-woman.” 

“ Then,”  said  Sir  George  Staunton,  “ I am  the 
first  to  inform  you  there  has  been  an  invasion  of 
your  quiet  premises  since  you  left  home.  My  wife, 
whom  the  Duke  of  Argyle  had  the  goodness  to  per- 
mit to  use  Roseneath  Lodge,  while  she  was  spend- 
ing some  weeks  in  your  country,  has  sallied  across 
and  taken  up  her  quarters  in  the  Manse,  as  she 
says,  to  be  nearer  the  goats,  whose  milk  she  is 
using ; but  I believe,  in  reality,  because  she  prefers 
Mrs.  Butler’s  company  to  that  of  the  respectable 
gentleman  who  acts  as  seneschal  on  the  Duke’s 
domains.” 

Mr.  Butler  said,  “ he  had  often  heard  the  late 
Duke  and  the  present  speak  with  high  respect  of 
Lady  Staunton,  and  was  happy  if  his  house  could 
accommodate  any  friend  of  theirs  — it  would  be  but 
a very  slight  acknowledgment  of  the  many  favours 
he  owed  them.” 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN. 


3^7 


•*  That  does  not  make  Lady  Staunton  and  myself 
the  less  obliged  to  your  hospitality,  sir,”  r said  Sir 
George.  “May  I enquire  if  you  think  of  returning 
home  soon  ? ” 

“ In  the  course  of  two  days,”  Mr.  Butler  answered, 
his  duty  in  the  Assembly  would  be  ended ; and 
the  other  matters  he  had  in  town  being  all  finished, 
he  was  desirous  of  returning  to  Dunbartonshire  as 
soon  as  he  could ; but  he  was  under  the  necessity 
of  transporting  a considerable  sum  in  bills  and 
money  with  him,  and  therefore  wished  to  travel  in 
company  with  one  or  two  of  his  brethren  of  the 
clergy.” 

“ My  escort  will  be  more  safe,”  said  Sir  George 
Staunton,  “ and  I think  of  setting  off  to-morrow  or 
next  day.  If  you  will  give  me  the  pleasure  of  your 
company,  I will  undertake  to  deliver  you  and  your 
charge  safe  at  the  Manse,  provided  you  will  admit 
me  along  with  you.” 

Mr.  Butler  gratefully  accepted  of  this  proposal; 
the  appointment  was  made  accordingly,  and  by  dis- 
patches with  one  of  Sir  George’s  servants,  who  was 
sent  forward  for  the  purpose,  the  inhabitants  of  the 
manse  of  Knocktarlitie  were  made  acquainted  with 
the  intended  journey ; and  the  news  rung  through 
the  whole  vicinity,  “ that  the  minister  was  coming 
back  wi’  a braw  English  gentleman,  and  a’  the  sil- 
ler that  was  to  pay  for  the  estate  of  Craigsture.” 

This  sudden  resolution  of  going  to  Knocktarlitie 
had  lleen  adopted  by  Sir  George  Staunton  in  con- 
sequence of  the  incidents  of  the  evening.  In  spite 
of  his  present  consequence,  he  felt  he  had  presumed 
too  far  in  venturing  so  near  the  scene  of  his  for- 
mer audacious  acts  of  violence,  and  he  knew  too 
well,  from  past  experience,  the  acuteness  of  a man 


388 


TALES  OE  MY  LANDLORD. 


like  Ratcliffe,  again  to  encounter  him.  The  next 
two  days  he  kept  his  lodgings,  under  pretence  of 
indisposition,  and  took  leave,  by  writing,  of  his 
noble  friend,  the  High  Commissioner,  alleging  the 
opportunity  of  Mr.  Butler’s  company  as  a reason 
for  leaving  Edinburgh  sooner  than  he  had  proposed. 
He  had  a long  conference  with  his  agent  on  the 
subject  of  Annaple  Bailzou ; and  the  professional 
gentleman,  who  was  the  agent  also  of  the  Argyle 
family,  had  directions  to  collect  all  the  information 
which  Ratcliffe  or  others  might  be  able  to  obtain 
concerning  the  fate  of  that  woman  and  the  unfor- 
tunate child,  and,  so  soon  as  any  thing  transpired 
which  had  the  least  appearance  of  being  important, 
that  he  should  send  an  express  with  it  instantly  to 
Knocktarlitie.  These  instructions  were  backed  with 
a deposit  of  money,  and  a request  that  no  expense 
might  be  spared ; so  that  Sir  George  Staunton  had 
little  reason  to  apprehend  negligence  on  the  part  of 
the  persons  intrusted  with  the  commission. 

The  journey,  which  the  brothers  made  in  com- 
pany, was  attended  with  more  pleasure,  even  to  Sir 
George  Staunton,  than  he  had  ventured  to  expect. 
His  heart  lightened  in  spite  of  himself  when  they 
lost  sight  of  Edinburgh ; and  the  easy,  sensible 
conversation  of  Butler  was  well  calculated  to  with- 
draw his  thoughts  from  painful  reflections.  He 
even  began  to  think  whether  there  could  be  much 
difficulty  in  removing  his  wife’s  connexions  to  the 
Rectory  of  Willingham ; it  was  only  on  his*  part 
procuring  some  still  better  preferment  for  the  pre- 
sent incumbent,  and  on  Butler’s,  that  he  should  take 
orders  according  to  the  English  church,  to  which 
he  could  not  conceive  a possibility  of  his  making 
objection,  and  then  he  had  them  residing  under  his 


THE  HEART  OE  MID-LOTHIAN. 


389 


wing.  No  doubt,  there  was  pain  in  seeing  Mrs.  But- 
ler, acquainted,  as  he  knew  her  to  be,  with  the  full 
truth  of  his  evil  history  — But  then  her  silence, 
though  he  had  no  reason  to  complain  of  her  indis- 
cretion hitherto,  was  still  more  absolutely  ensured. 
It  would  keep  his  lady,  also,  both  in  good  temper 
and  in  more  subjection ; for  she  was  sometimes 
troublesome  to  him,  by  insisting  on  remaining  in 
town  when  he  desired  to  retire  to  the  country, 
alleging  the  total  want  of  society  at  Willingham. 
“ Madam,  your  sister  is  there,”  would,  he  thought, 
be  a sufficient  answer  to  this  ready  argument. 

He  sounded  Butler  on  this  subject,  asking  what 
he  would  think  of  an  English  living  of  twelve  hun- 
dred pounds  yearly,  with  the  burden  of  affording 
his  company  now  and  then  to  a neighbour  whose 
health  was  not  strong,  or  his  spirits  equal.  “ He 
might  meet,”  he  said,  “ occasionally,  a very  learned 
and  accomplished  gentleman,  who  was  in  orders  as 
a Catholic  priest,  but  he  hoped  that  would  be  no 
insurmountable  objection  to  a man  of  his  liberality 
of  sentiment.  What,”  he  said,  “would  Mr.  But- 
ler think  of  as  an  answer,  if  the  offer  should  be 
made  to  him  ? ” 

“Simply  that  I could  not  accept  of  it,”  said  Mr. 
Butler.  I have  no  mind  to  enter  into  the  various 
debates  between  the  churches ; but  I was  brought 
up  in  mine  own,  have  received  her  ordination,  am 
satisfied  of  the  truth  of  her  doctrines,  and  will  die 
under  the  banner  I have  enlisted  to.” 

“ What  may  be  the  value  of  your  preferment  ? ” 
said  Sir  George  Staunton,  “ unless  I am  asking  an 
indiscreet  question.” 

“Probably  one  hundred  a-year,  one  year  with 
another,  besides  my  glebe  and  pasture-ground.” 


390 


TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 


“ And  you  scruple  to  exchange  that  for  twelve 
hundred  a-year,  without  alleging  any  damning  dif- 
ference of  doctrine  betwixt  the  two  churches  of 
England  and  Scotland  ? ” 

“ On  that,  sir,  I have  reserved  my  judgment ; 
there  may  be  much  good,  and  there  are  certainly 
saving  means  in  both,  but  every  man  must  act  ac- 
cording to  his  own  lights.  I hope  I have  done, 
rfnd  am  in  the  course  of  doing,  my  Master’s  work 
in  this  Highland  parish ; and  it  would  ill  become 
me,  for  the  sake  of  lucre,  to  leave  my  sheep  in  the 
wilderness.  But,  even  in  the  temporal  view  which 
you  have  taken  of  the  matter,  Sir  George,  this 
hundred  pounds  a-year  of  stipend  hath  fed  and 
clothed  us,  and  left  us  nothing  to  wish  for ; my 
father-in-law’s  succession,  and  other  circumstances, 
have  added  a small  estate  of  about  twice  as  much 
more,  and  how  we  are  to  dispose  of  it  I do  not 
know  — So  I leave  it  to  you,  sir,  to  think  if  I were 
wise,  not  having  the  wish  or  opportunity  of  spend- 
ing three  hundred  a-year,  to  covet  the  possession  of 
four  times  that  sum.” 

“ This  is  philosophy,”  said  Sir  George ; “ I have 
heard  of  it,  but  I never  saw  it  before.” 

“ It  is  common  sense,”  replied  Butler,  “ which 
accords  with  philosophy  and  religion  more  fre- 
quently than  pedants  or  zealots  are  apt  to  admit.” 

Sir  George  turned  the  subject,  and  did  not  again 
resume  it.  Although  they  travelled  in  Sir  George’s 
chariot,  he  seemed  so  much  fatigued  with  the  mo- 
tion, that  it  was  necessary  for  him  to  remain  for  a 
day  at  a small  town  called  Mid-Calder,  which  was 
their  first  stage  from  Edinburgh.  Glasgow  occu- 
pied another  day,  so  slow  were  their  motions. 

They  travelled  on  to  Dunbarton,  where  they  had 


THE  HEART  OE  MID-LOTHIAN. 


39 1 


resolved  to  leave  the  equipage,  and  to  hire  a boat 
to  take  them  to  the  shores  near  the  Manse,  as  the 
Gare-Loch  lay  betwixt  them  and  that  point,  besides 
the  impossibility  of  travelling  in  that  district  with 
wheel-carriages.  Sir  George’s  valet,  a man  of  trust, 
accompanied  them,  as  also  a footman  ; the  grooms 
were  left  with  the  carriage.  Just  as  this  arrange- 
ment was  completed,  which  was  about  four  o’clock 
in  the  afternoon,  an  express  arrived  from  Sir 
George’s  agent  in  Edinburgh,  with  a packet,  which 
he  opened  and  read  with  great  attention,  appearing 
much  interested  and  agitated  by  the  contents.  The 
packet  had  been  dispatched  very  soon  after  their 
leaving  Edinburgh,  but  the  messenger  had  missed 
the  travellers  by  passing  through  Mid-Calder  in  the 
night,  and  over-shot  his  errand  by  getting  to  Bose- 
neath  before  them.  He  was  now  on  his  return,, 
after  having  waited  more  than  four-and-twenty 
hours.  Sir  George  Staunton  instantly  wrote  back 
an  answer,  and,  rewarding  the  messenger  liberally, 
desired  him  not  to  sleep  till  he  placed  it  in  his 
agent’s  hands. 

At  length  they  embarked  in  the  boat,  which  had 
waited  for  them  some  time.  During  their  voyage, 
which  was  slow,  for  they  were  obliged  to  row  the 
whole  way,  and  often  against  the  tide,  Sir  George 
Staunton’s  enquiries  ran  chiefly  on  the  subject  of 
the  Highland  banditti  who  had  infested  that  coun- 
try since  the  year  1745.  Butler  informed  him,  that 
many  of  them  were  not  native  Highlanders,  but 
gipsies,  tinkers,  and  other  men  of  desperate  for- 
tunes, who  had  taken  advantage  of  the  confusion 
introduced  by  the  civil  war,  the  general  discontent 
of  the  mountaineers,  and  the  unsettled  state  of 
police,  to  practise  their  plundering  trade  with  more 


392 


TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 


audacity.  Sir  George  next  enquired  into  their  lives, 
their  habits,  whether  the  violences  which  they  com- 
mitted were  not  sometimes  atoned  for  by  acts  of 
generosity,  and  whether  they  did  not  possess  the 
virtues,  as  well  as  the  vices,  of  savage  tribes  ? 

Butler  answered,  that  certainly  they  did  some- 
times show  sparks  of  generosity,  of  which  even  the 
worst  class  of  malefactors  are  seldom  utterly  di- 
vested ; but  that  their  evil  propensities  were  certain 
and  regular  principles  of  action,  while  any  occa- 
sional burst  of  virtuous  feeling  was  only  a transient 
impulse  not  to  be  reckoned  upon,  and  excited  prob- 
ably by  some  singular  and  unusual  concatenation 
of  circumstances.  In  discussing  these  enquiries, 
which  Sir  George  pursued  with  an  apparent  eager- 
ness that  rather  surprised  Butler,  the  latter  chanced 
to  mention  the  name  of  Donacha  Dhu  na  Dunaigh, 
with  which  the  reader  is  already  acquainted.  Sir 
George  caught  the  sound  up  eagerly,  and  as  if  it 
conveyed  particular  interest  to  his  ear.  He  made 
the  most  minute  enquiries  concerning  the  man 
whom  he  mentioned,  the  number  of  his  gang,  and 
even  the  appearance  of  those  who  belonged  to  it. 
Upon  these  points  Butler  could  give  little  answer. 
The  man  had  a name  among  the  lower  class,  but 
his  exploits  were  considerably  exaggerated  ; he  had 
always  one  or  two  fellows  with  him,  but  never 
aspired  to  the  command  of  above  three  or  four.  In 
short,  he  knew  little  about  him,  and  the  small  ac- 
quaintance* he  had,  had  by  no  means  inclined  him 
to  desire  more. 

“ Nevertheless,  I should  like  to  see  him  some  of 
these  days” 

“ That  would  be  a dangerous  meeting,*  Sir 
George,  unless  you  mean  we  are  to  see  him  receive 


THE  HEART  OE  MID-LOTHIAN.  393 

his  deserts  from  the  law,  and  then  it  were  a melan- 
choly one.” 

“Use  every  man  according  to  his  deserts,  Mr. 
Butler,  and  who  shall  escape  whipping  ? But  I am 
talking  riddles  to  you.  I will  explain  them  more 
fully  to  you  when  I have  spoken  over  the  subject 
with  Lady  Staunton.  — Pull  away,  my  lads,”  he 
added,  addressing  himself  to  the  rowers ; “ the 
clouds  threaten  us  with  a storm.” 

In  fact,  the  dead  and  heavy  closeness  of  the  air, 
the  huge  piles  of  clouds  which  assembled  in  the 
western  horizon,  and  glowed  like  a furnace  under 
the  influence  of  the  setting  sun  — that  awful  still- 
ness in  which  nature  seems  to  expect  the  thunder- 
burst,  as  a condemned  soldier  waits  for  the  pla- 
toon-fire which  is  to  stretch  him  on  the  earth,  all 
betokened  a speedy  storm.  Large  broad  drops  fell 
from  time  to  time,  and  induced  the  gentlemen  to  as- 
sume the  boat-cloaks  ; but  the  rain  again  ceased,  and 
the  oppressive  heat,  so  unusual  in  Scotland  in  the  end 
of  May,  inclined  them  to  throw  them  aside.  “ There 
is  something  solemn  in  this  delay  of  the  storm,” 
said  Sir  George ; “ it  seems  as  if  it  suspended  its 
peal  till  it  solemnized  some  important  event  in  the 
world  below.” 

“Alas ! ” replied  Butler,  “ what  are  we,  that  the 
laws  of  nature  should  correspond  in  their  march  with 
our  ephemeral  deeds  or  sufferings  ? The  clouds 
will  burst  when  surcharged  with  the  electric  fluid, 
whether  a goat  is  falling  at  that  instant  from  the 
cliffs  of  Arran,  or  a hero  expiring  on  the  field  of 
battle  he  has  won.” 

“The  mind  delights  to  deem  it  otherwise,”  said 
Si/ * George  Staunton;  “and  to  dwell  on  the  fate 
of  humanity  as  on  that  which  is  the  prime  central 


394 


TALES  OE  MY  LANDLORD. 


movement  of  the  mighty  machine.  We  love  not 
to  think  that  we  shall  mix  with  the  ages  that  have 
gone  before  us,  as  these  broad  black  rain-drops 
mingle  with  the  waste  of  waters,  making  a trifling 
and  momentary  eddy,  and  are  then  lost  for  ever.” 

“ For  ever  ! — we  are  not  — we  cannot  be  lost  for 
ever,”  said  Butler,  looking  upward ; “ death  is  to 
us  change,  not  consummation  ; and  the  commence- 
ment of  a new  existence,  corresponding  in  charac- 
ter to  the  deeds  which  we  have  done  in  the  body.” 
While  they  agitated  these  grave  subjects,  to 
which  the  solemnity  of  the  approaching  storm 
naturally  led  them,  their  voyage  threatened  to  be 
more  tedious  than  they  expected,  for  gusts  of  wind, 
which  rose  and  fell  with  sudden  impetuosity,  swept 
the  bosom  of  the  Frith,  and  impeded  the  efforts  of 
the  rowers.  They  had  now  only  to  double  a small 
head-land,  in  order  to  get  to  the  proper  landing- 
place  in  the  mouth  of  the  little  river;  but  in  the 
state  of  the  weather,  and  the  boat  being  heavy, 
this  was  like  to  be  a work  of  time,  and  in  the 
meanwhile  they  must  necessarily  be  exposed  to  the 
storm. 

“ Could  we  not  land  on  this  side  of  the  head- 
land,” asked  Sir  George,  “ and  so  gain  some 
shelter  ? ” 

Butler  knew  of  no  landing-place,  at  least  none 
affording  a convenient  or  even  practicable  passage 
up  the  rocks  which  surrounded  the  shore. 

“ Think  again,”*  said  Sir  George  Staunton  ; “ the 
storm  will  soon  be  violent.” 

“ Hout,  ay,”  said  one  of  the  boatmen,  “ there’s 
the  Caird’s  Cove ; but  we  dinna  tell  the  minister 
about  it,  and  I am  no  sure  if  I can  steer  the  boat 
to  it,  the  bay  is  sae  fu’  o’  shoals  and  sunk  rocks.” 


THE  IIEAUT  OF  MID-LOTHIAN.  395 

“Try,”  said  Sir  George,  “and  I will  give  you 
half-a-guinea.” 

The  old  fellow  took  the  helm,  and  observed, 

“ that  if  they  could  get  in,  there  was  a steep  path 
up  from  the  beach,  and  half-an-hour's  walk  from 
thence  to  the  Manse.” 

“ Are  you  sure  you  know  the  way  ? ” said  Butler 
to  the  old  man. 

“ I maybe  kend  it  a wee  better  fifteen  years 
syne,  when  Dandie  Wilson  was  in  the  Frith  wi’  his 
clean-ganging  lugger.  I mind  Dandie  had  a wild 
young  Englisher  wi'  him,  that  they  ca'd ” 

“If  you  chatter  so  much,”  said  Sir  George 
Staunton,  “you  will  have  the  boat  on  the  Grind- 
stone — bring  that  white  rock  in  a line  with  the 
steeple.” 

“By  G — ,”  said  the  veteran,  staring,  “I  think  . 
your  honour  kens  the  bay  as  weel  as  me. —Your 
honour's  nose  has  been  on  the  Grindstane  ere  now, 
I'm  thinking.” 

As  they  spoke  thus,  they  approached  the  little 
cove,  which,  concealed  behind  crags,  and  defended 
on  every  point  by  shallows  and  sunken  rocks,  could 
scarce  be  discovered  or  approached,  except  by  those 
intimate  with  the  navigation.  An  old  shattered 
boat  was  already  drawn  up  on  the  beach  within  the 
cove,  close  beneath  the  trees,  and  with  precautions 
for  concealment. 

Upon  observing  this  vessel,  Butler  remarked  to 
his  companion,  “ It  is  impossible  for  you  to  con- 
ceive, Sir  George,  the  difficulty  I have  had  with 
my  poor  people,  in  teaching  them  the  guilt  and  the 
danger  of  this  contraband  trade  — yet  they  have 
perpetually  before  their  eyes  all  its  dangerous  con- 
sequences, I do  not  know  any  thing  that  more 


396  TALES  OE  MY  LANDLORD. 

effectually  depraves  and  ruins  their  moral  and  re- 
ligious principles.” 

Sir  George  forced  himself  to  say  something  in  a 
low  voice,  about  the  spirit  of  adventure  natural  to 
youth,  and  that  unquestionably  many  would  become 
wiser  as  they  grew  older. 

“ Too  seldom,  sir,”  replied  Butler.  “ If  they  have 
been  deeply  engaged,  and  especially  if  they  have 
mingled  in  the  scenes  of  violence  and  blood  to 
which  their  occupation  naturally  leads,  I have 
observed,  that,  sooner  or  later,  they  come  to  an  evil 
end.  Experience,  as  well  as  Scripture,  teaches  us, 
Sir  George,  that  mischief  shall  hunt  the  violent 
man,  and  that  the  bloodthirsty  man  shall  not  live 
half  his  days  — But  take  my  arm  to  help  you 
ashore.” 

Sir  George  needed  assistance,  for  he  was  con- 
trasting in  his  altered  thought  the  different  feelings 
of  mind  and  frame  with  which  he  had  formerly 
frequented  the  same  place.  As  they  landed,  a low 
growl  of  thunder  was  heard  at  a distance. 

“ That  is  ominous,  Mr.  Butler,”  said  Sir  George. 

“ Intonuit  lazvum  — it  is  ominous  of  good,  then,” 
answered  Butler,  smiling. 

The  boatmen  were  ordered  to  make  the  best  of 
their  way  round  the  head-land  to  the  ordinary  land- 
ing-place ; the  two  gentlemen,  followed  by  their 
servant,  sought  their  way  by  a blind  and  tangled 
path,  through  a close  copsewood  to  the  Manse  of 
Knocktarlitie,  where  their  arrival  was  anxiously 
expected. 

The  sisters  in  vain  had  expected  their  husbands’ 
return  on  the  preceding  day,  which  was  that  ap- 
pointed by  Sir  George’s  letter.  The  delay  of  the 
travellers  at  Calder  had  occasioned  this  breach  of 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN. 


397 


appointment.  The  inhabitants  of  the  Manse  be- 
gan even  to  doubt  whether  they  would  arrive  on 
the  present  day.  Lady  Staunton  felt  this  hope  of 
delay  as  a brief  reprieve ; for  she  dreaded  the  pangs 
which  her  husband's  pride  must  undergo  at  meet- 
ing with  a sister-in-law,  to  whom  the  whole  of  his 
unhappy  and  dishonourable  history  was  too  well 
known.  She  knew,  whatever  force  or  constraint 
he  might  put  upon  his  feelings  in  public,  that  she 
herself  must  be  doomed  to  see  them  display  them- 
selves in  full  vehemence  in  secret,  — consume  his 
health,  destroy  his  temper,  and  render  him  at  once 
an  object  of  dread  and  compassion.  Again  and  again 
she  cautioned  Jeanie  to  display  no  tokens  of  recogni- 
tion, but  to  receive  him  as  a perfect  stranger,  — and 
again  and  again  Jeanie  renewed  her  promise  to 
comply  with  her  wishes. 

Jeanie  herself  could  not  fail  to  bestow  an  anx- 
ious thought  on  the  awkwardness  of  the  approach- 
ing meeting , but  her  conscience  was  ungalled  — 
and  then , she  was  cumbered  with  many  household 
cares  of  an  unusual  nature,  which,  joined  to  the 
anxious  wish  once  more  to  see  Butler,  after  an 
absence  of  unusual  length,  made  her  extremely 
desirous  that  the  travellers  should  arrive  as  soon  as 
possible.  And  — why  should  I disguise  the  truth  ? 
— ever  and  anon  a thought  stole  across  her  mind 
that  her  gala  dinner  had  now  been  postponed  for 
two  days ; and  how  few  of  the  dishes,  after  every 
art  of  her  simple  cuisine  had  been  exerted  to  dress 
them,  could  with  any  credit  or  propriety  appear 
again  upon  the  third ; and  what  was  she  to  do  with 
the  rest  ? — Upon  this  last  subject  she  was  saved 
the  trouble  of  farther  deliberation,  by  the  sudden 
appearance  of  the  Captain  at  the  head  of  half-a- 


398 


TALES  OE  MY  LANDLORD. 


dozen  stout  fellows,  dressed  and  armed  in  the 
Highland  fashion. 

“ Goot-morrow  morning  to  ye,  Leddy  Staunton, 
and  I hope  I hae  the  pleasure  to  see  ye  weel  — And 
goot-morrow  to  you,  goot  Mrs.  Putler  — I do  peg 
you  will  order  some  victuals  and  ale  and  prandy 
for  the  lads,  for  we  hae  peen  out  on  firth  and  moor 
since  afore  daylight,  and  a’  to  no  purpose  neither 
— Cot  tarn  ! ” 

So  saying,  he  sate  down,  pushed  back  his  briga- 
dier wig,  and  wiped  his  head  with  an  air  of  easy 
importance ; totally  regardless  of  the  look  of  well- 
bred  astonishment  by  which  Lady  Staunton  en- 
deavoured to  make  him  comprehend  that  he  was 
assuming  too  great  a liberty. 

“ It  is  some  comfort,  when  one  has  had  a 
sair  tussell,,,  continued  the  Captain,  addressing 
Lady  Staunton,  with  an  air  of  gallantry,  “that 
it  is  in  a fair  leddy’s  service,  or  in  the  service 
of  a gentleman  whilk  has  a fair  leddy,  whilk 
is  the  same  thing,  since  serving  the  husband  is 
serving  the  wife,  as  Mrs.  Putler  does  very  weel 
know.” 

“ Really,  sir,”  said  Lady  Staunton,  “ as  you  seem 
to  intend  this  compliment  for  me,  I am  at  a loss  to 
know  what  interest  Sir  George  or  I can  have  in 
your  movements  this  morning.” 

“ 0 Cot  tarn ! — this  is  too  cruel,  my  leddy  — as 
if  it  was  not  py  special  express  from  his  Grace's 
honourable  agent  and  commissioner  at  Edinburgh, 
with  a warrant  conform,  that  I was  to  seek  for  and 
apprehend  Donacha  dhu  na  Dunaigh,  and  pring  him 
pefore  myself  and  Sir  George  Staunton,  that  he  may 
have  his  deserts,  that  is  to  say,  the  gallows,  whilk 
he  has  doubtless  deserved,  py  peing  the  means  of 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN. 


399 


frightening  your  leddyship,  as  weel  as  for  some- 
thing of  less  importance.” 

“ Frightening  me  ? ” said  her  ladyship  ; “ why,  I 
never  wrote  to  Sir  George  about  my  alarm  at  the 
waterfall.” 

“ Then  he  must  have  heard  it  otherwise  ; for  what 
else  can  give  him  sic  an  earnest  tesire  to  see  this 
rapscallion,  that  I maun  ripe  the  haill  mosses  and 
muirs  in  the  country  for  him,  as  if  I were  to  get 
something  for  finding  him,  when  the  pest  o’t  might 
pe  a pall  through  my  prains  ? ” 

Can  it  be  really  true,  that  it  is  on  Sir  George’s 
account  that  you  have  been  attempting  to  appre- 
hend this  fellow?” 

“Py  Cot,  it  is  for  no  other  cause  that  I know 
than  his  honour’s  pleasure  ; for  the  creature  might 
hae  gone  on  in  a decent  quiet  way  for  me,  sae  lang 
as  he  respectit  the  Duke’s  pounds  — put  reason  goot 
he  suld  be  taen,  and  hangit  to  poot,  if  it  may  plea- 
sure ony  honourable  shentleman  that  is  the  Duke’s 
friend  — Sae  I got  the  express  over  night,  and  I 
caused  warn  half  a score  of  pretty  lads,  and  was  up 
in  the  morning  pefore  the  sun,  and  I garr’d  the  lads 
take  their  kilts  and  short  coats.” 

“ I wonder  you  did  that,  Captain,”  said  Mrs.  But- 
ler, “ when  you  know  the  act  of  parliament  against 
wearing  the  Highland  dress.” 

“ Hout,  tout,  ne’er  fash  your  thumb,  Mrs.  Putler. 
The  law  is  put  twa-three  years  auld  yet,  and  is 
ower  young  to  hae  come  our  length  ; and  pesides, 
how  is  the  lads  to  climb  the  praes  wi’  thae  tamn’d 
breekens  on  them  ? It  makes  me  sick  to  see  them. 
Put  ony  how,  I thought  I kend  Donacha’s  haunts 
gey  and  weel,  and  I was  at  the  place  where  he  had 
rested  yestreen ; for  I saw  the  leaves  the  limmers 


4oo  TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 

had  lain  on,  and  the  ashes  of  them ; by  the  same 
token  there  was  a pit  greeshoch  purning  yet.  I am 
thinking  they  got  some  word  out  o’  the  island  what 
was  intended  — I sought  every  glen  and  cleuch,  as 
if  I had  been  deer-stalking,  but  teil  a wauff • of  his 
coat-tail  could  I see  — Cot  tarn  ! ” 

“ He’ll  be  away  down  the  Frith  to  Cowal,”  said 
David ; and  Reuben,  who  had  been  out  early  that 
morning  a-nutting,  observed,  “ That  he  had  seen 
a boat  making  for  the  Caird’s  Cove ; ” a place  well 
known  to  the  boys,  though  their  less  adventurous 
father  was  ignorant  of  its  existence. 

“ Py  Cot,”  said  Duncan,  “ then  I will  stay  here 
no  longer  than  to  trink  this  very  horn  of  prandy 
and  water,  for  it  is  very  possible  they  will  pe  in  the 
wood.  Donacha’s  a clever  fellow,  and  maype  thinks 
it  pest  to  sit  next  the  chimley  when  the  lum  reeks. 
He  thought  naebody  would  look  for  him  sae  near 
hand  ! I peg  your  leddyship  will  excuse  my  aprupt 
departure,  as  I will  return  forthwith,  and  I will 
either  pring  you  Donacha  in  life,  or  else  his  head, 
whilk  I dare  to  say  will  be  as  satisfactory.  And  T 
hope  to  pass  a pleasant  evening  with  your  leddy- 
ship ; and  I hope  to  have  mine  revenges  on  Mr. 
Putler  at  packgammon,  for  the  four  pennies  whilk 
he  won,  for  he  will  pe  surely  at  home  soon,  or  else 
he  will  have  a wet  journey,  seeing  it  is  apout  to  pe 
a scud.” 

Thus  saying,  with  many  scrapes  and  bows,  and 
apologies  for  leaving  them,  which  were  very  readily 
received,  and  reiterated  assurances  of  his  speedy 
return,  (of  the  sincerity  whereof  Mrs.  Butler  enter- 
tained no  doubt,  so  long  as  her  best  greybeard  of 
brandy  was  upon  duty,)  Duncan  left  the  Manse, 
collected  his  followers,  and  began  to  scour  the  close 


THE  HEART  OE  MID-LOT  1 1 TAN. 


401 


and  entangled  wood  which  lay  between  the  little 
glen  and  the  Caird’s  Cove.  David,  who  was  a fa- 
vourite with  the  Captain,  on  account  of  his  spirit 
and  courage,  took  the  opportunity  of  escaping,  to 
attend  the  investigations  of  that  great  man. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 


I did  send  for  thee, 

That  Talbot’s  name  might  be  in  thee  revived, 

When  sapless  age,  and  weak  unable  limbs, 

Should  bring  thy  father  to  his  drooping  chair. 

But  — O malignant  and  ill-boding  stars  ! — 

First  Part  of  Henry  the  Sixth . 

Duncan  and  his  party  had  not  proceeded  very  far 
in  the  direction  of  the  Caird’s  Cove  before  they 
heard  a shot,  which  was  quickly  followed  by  one  or 
two  others.  “ Some  tamn’d  villains  among  the  roe- 
deer/' said  Duncan ; “ look  sharp  out,  lads.” 

The  clash  of  swords  was  next  heard,  and  Dun- 
can and  his  myrmidons,  hastening  to  the  spot,  found 
Butler  and  Sir  George  Staunton’s  servant  in  the 
hands  of  four  ruffians.  Sir  George  himself  lay 
stretched  on  the  ground,  with  *his  drawn  sword  in 
his  hand.  Duncan,  who  was  as  brave  as  a lion,  in- 
stantly fired  his  pistol  at  the  leader  of  the  band, 
unsheathed  his  sword,  cried  out  to  his  men,  Clay- 
more ! and  run  his  weapon  through  the  body  of  the 
fellow  whom  he  had  previously  wounded,  who  was 
no  other  than  Donacha  dhu  na  Dunaigh  himself. 
The  other  banditti  were  speedily  overpowered,  ex- 
cepting one  young  lad,  who  made  wonderful  re- 
sistance for  his  years,  and  was  at  length  secured 
with  difficulty. 


THE  HEART  OE  MID-LOTHIAN. 


403 


Butler,  so  soon  as  he  was  liberated  from  the  ruf- 
fians, ran  to  raise  Sir  George  Staunton,  but  life  had 
wholly  left  him. 

“ A creat  misfortune/’  said  Duncan ; “ I think 
it  will  pe  pest  that  I go  forward  to  intimate  it  to 
the  coot  leddy.  — Tavie,  my  dear,  you  hae  smelled 
pouther  for  the  first  time  this  day  — take  my  sword 
and  hack  off  Donaclia’s  head,  whilk  will  pe  coot 
practice  for  you  against  the  time  you  may  wish  to 
do  the  same  kindness  to  a living  shentleman  — or 
hould,  as  your  father  does  not  approve,  you  may 
leave  it  alone,  as  he  will  pe  a greater  object  of  sat- 
isfaction to  Leddy  Staunton  to  see  him  entire ; and 
I hope  she  will  do  me  the  credit  to  pelieve  that  I 
can  afenge  a shentleman’s  plood  fery  speedily  and 
well.” 

Such  was  the  observation  of  a man  too  much 
accustomed  to  the  ancient  state  of  manners  in  the 
Highlands,  to  look  upon  the  issue  of  such  a skir- 
mish as  any  thing  worthy  of  wonder  or  emotion. 

We  will  not  attempt  to.  describe  the  very  con- 
trary effect  which  the  unexpected  disaster  produced 
upon  Lady  Staunton,  when  the  bloody  corpse  of 
her  husband  was  brought  to  the  house,  where  she 
expected  to  meet  him  alive  and  well.  All  was  for- 
gotten, but  that  he  was  the  lover  of  her  youth  ; and 
whatever  were  his  faults  to  the  world,  that  he  had 
towards  her  exhibited  only  those  that  arose  from 
the  inequality  of  spirits  and  temper,  incident  to  a 
situation  of  unparalleled  difficulty.  In  the  vivacity 
of  her  grief  she  gave  way  to  all  the  natural  irri- 
tability of  her  temper ; shriek  followed  shriek,  and 
swoon  succeeded  to  swoon.  It  required  all  Jeanie’s 
watchful  affection  to  prevent  her  from  making 
known,  in  these  paroxysms  of  affliction,  much  which 


404  TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 

it  was  of  the  highest  importance  that  she  should 
keep  secret. 

At  length  silence  and  exhaustion  succeeded  to 
frenzy,  and  Jeanie  stole  out  to  take  counsel  with 
her  husband,  and  to  exhort  him  to  anticipate  the 
Captain's  interference,  by  taking  possession  in  Lady 
Staunton's  name,  of  the  private  papers  of  her  de- 
ceased husband.  To  the  utter  astonishment  of 
Butler,  she  now,  for  the  first  time,  explained  the 
relation  betwixt  herself  and  Lady  Staunton,  which 
authorised,  nay,  demanded,  that  he  should  prevent 
any  stranger  from  being  unnecessarily  made  ac- 
quainted with  her  family  affairs.  It  was  in  such  a 
crisis  that  Jeanie's  active  and  undaunted  habits  of 
virtuous  exertion  were  most  conspicuous.  While 
the  Captain's  attention  was  still  engaged  by  a pro- 
longed refreshment,  and  a very  tedious  examina- 
tion, in  Gaelic  and  English,  of  all  the  prisoners, 
and  every  other  witness  of  the  fatal  transaction, 
she  had  the  body  of  her  brother-in-law  undressed 
and  properly  disposed.  — It  then  appeared,  from  the 
crucifix,  the  beads,  and  the  shirt  of  hair  which  he 
wore  next  his  person,  that  his  sense  of  guilt  had 
induced  him  to  receive  the  dogmata  of  a religion, 
which  pretends,  by  the  maceration  of  the  body,  to 
expiate  the  crimes  of  the  soul.  In  the  packet  of 
papers,  which  the  express  had  brought  to  Sir  George 
Staunton  from  Edinburgh,  and  which  Butler,  au- 
thorised by  his  connexion  with  the  deceased,  did 
not  scruple  to  examine,  he  found  new  and  astonish- 
ing intelligence,  which  gave  him  reason  to  thank 
God  he  had  taken  that  measure. 

Batcliffe,  to  whom  all  sorts  of  misdeeds  and  mis- 
doers  were  familiar,  instigated  by  the  promised 
reward,  soon  found  himself  in  a condition  to  trace 


THE  HEART  OE  MID-LOTHIAN.  405 

the  infant  of  these  unhappy  parents.  The  woman 
to  whom  Meg  Murdockson  had  sold  that  most  un- 
fortunate child,  had  made  it  the  companion  of  her 
wanderings  and  her  beggary,  until  he  was  about 
seven  or  eight  years  old,  when,  as  Ratcliffe  learned 
from  a companion  of  hers,  then  in  the  Correction- 
house  of  Edinburgh,  she  sold  him  in  her  turn  to 
Donacha  dhu  11a  Dunaigh.  This  man,  to  whom  no 
act  oT  mischief  was  unknown,  was  occasionally  an 
agent  in  a horrible  trade  then  carried  on  betwixt 
Scotland  and  America,  for  supplying  the  planta- 
tions with  servants,  by  means  of  kidnapping , as  it 
was  termed,  both  men  and  women,  but  especially 
children  under  age.  Here  Ratcliffe  lost  sight  of 
ttef  boy,  but  had  110  doubt  but  Donacha  Dhu  could 
give  an  account  of  him.  The  gentleman  of  the  law, 
so  often  mentioned,  dispatched  therefore  an  express, 
with  a letter  to  Sir  George  Staunton,  and  another 
covering  a warrant  for  apprehension  of  Donacha, 
with  instructions  to  the  Captain  of  Knockdunder 
to  exert  his  utmost  energy  for  that  purpose. 

Possessed  of  this  information,  and  with  a mind 
agitated  by  the  most  gloomy  apprehensions,  Butler 
now  joined  the  Captain,  and  obtained  from  him  with 
some  difficulty  a sight  of  the  examinations.  These, 
with  a few  questions  to  the  elder  of  the  prisoners, 
soon  confirmed  the  most  dreadful  of  Butler’s  anti- 
cipations. We  give  the  heads  of  the  information, 
without  descending  into  minute  details. 

Donacha  Dhu  had  indeed  purchased  Effie’s  un- 
happy child,  with  the  purpose  of  selling  it  to  the 
American  traders,  whom  he  had  been  in  the  habit 
of  supplying  with  human  flesh.  But  no  opportu- 
nity occurred  for  some  time ; and  the  boy,  who  was 
known  by  the  name  of  “The  Whistler/’  made 


406  TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 

some  impression  on  the  heart  and  affections  even  o! 
this  rude  savage,  perhaps  because  he  saw  in  him 
flashes  of  a spirit  as  fierce  and  vindictive  as  his 
own.  When  Donacha  struck  or  threatened  him  — 
a very  common  occurrence  — he  did  not  answer 
with  complaints  and  entreaties  like  other  children, 
but  with  oaths  and  efforts  at  revenge  — he  had  all 
the  wild  merit,  too,  by  which  Woggarwolfe’s  arrow- 
bearing page  won  the  hard  heart  of  his  master; 

Like  a wild  cub,  rear’d  at  the  ruffian’s  feet, 

He  could  say  biting  jests,  bold  ditties  sing, 

And  quaff  his  foaming  bumper  at  the  board. 

With  all  the  mockery  of  a little  man.1 

In  short,  as  Donacha  Dhu  said,  the  Whistler 
was  a born  imp  of  Satan,  and  therefore  he  should 
never  leave  him.  Accordingly,  from  his  eleventh 
year  forward,  he  was  one  of  the  band,  and  often 
engaged  in  acts  of  violence.  The  last  of  these 
was  more  immediately  occasioned  by  the  researches 
which  the  Whistler’s  real  father  made  after  him 
whom  he  had  been  taught  to  consider  as  such. 
Donacha  Dhu’s  fears  had  been  for  some  time  exci- 
ted by  the  strength  of  the  means  which  began  now 
to  be  employed  against  persons  of  his  description. 
He  was  sensible  he  existed  only  by  the  precarious 
indulgence  of  his  namesake,  Duncan  of  Knockdun- 
der,  who  was  used  to  boast  that  he  could  put  him 
down  or  string  him  up  when  he  had  a mind.  He 
resolved  to  leave  the  kingdom  by  means  of  one  of 
those  sloops  which  were  engaged  in  the  traffic  of 
his  old  kidnapping  friends,  and  which  was  about  to 
sail  for  America  ; but  he  was  desirous  first  to  strik  3 
ft  bold  stroke. 


1 Ethwald. 


THE  HEART  OE  MID-LOTHIAN. 


407 


The  ruffian's  cupidity  was  excited  by  the  intelli- 
gence, that  a wealthy  Englishman  was  coming  to 
the  Manse — he  had  neither  forgotten  the  Whistler's 
report  of  the  gold  he  had  seen  in  Lady  Staunton's 
purse,  nor  his  old  vow  of  revenge  against  the  minis- 
ter; and,  to  bring  the  whole  to  a point,  he  conceived 
the  hope  of  appropriating  the  money,  which,  accord- 
ing to  the  general  report  of  the  country,  the  minister 
was  to  bring  from  Edinburgh  to  pay  for  his  new  pur- 
chase. While  he  was  considering  how  he  might  best 
accomplish  his  purpose,  he  received  the  intelligence 
from  one  quarter,  that  the  vessel  in  which  he  pro- 
posed to  sail  was  to  sail  immediately  from  Greenock ; 
from  another,  that  the  minister  and  a rich  English 
lord,  with  a great  many  thousand  pounds,  were  ex- 
pected the  next  evening  at  the  Manse ; and  from  a 
third,  that  he  must  consult  his  safety  by  leaving 
his  ordinary  haunts  as  soon  as  possible,  for  that  the 
Captain  had  ordered  out  a party  to  scour  the  glens 
for  him  at  break  of  day.  Donacha  laid  his  plans 
with  promptitude  and  decision.  He  embarked  with 
the  Whistler  and  two  others  of  his  band,  (whom,  by 
the  by,  he  meant  to  sell  to  the  kidnappers,)  and  set 
sail  for  the  Caird's  Cove.  He  intended  to  lurk  till 
night-fall  in  the  wood  adjoining  to  this  place,  which 
he  thought  was  too  near  the  habitation  of  men  to 
excite  the  suspicion  of  Duncan  Knock,  then  break 
into  Butler’s  peaceful  habitation,  and  flesh  at  once 
his  appetite  for  plunder  and  revenge.  When  his 
villainy  was  accomplished,  his  boat  was  to  convey 
him  to  the  vessel,  which,  according  to  previous  agree- 
ment with  the  master,  was  instantly  to  set  sail. 

This  desperate  design  would  probably  have  suc- 
ceeded, but  for  the  ruffians  being  discovered  in  their 
lurking-place  by  Sir  George  Staunton  and  Butler,  in 


408 


TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 


their  accidental  walk  from  the  Caird’s  Cove  towards 
the  Manse.  Finding  himself  detected,  and  at  the 
same  time  observing  that  the  servant  carried  a cas- 
ket, or  strong-box,  Donacha  conceived  that  both  his 
prize  and  his  victims  were  within  his  power,  and 
attacked  the  travellers  without  hesitation.  Shots 
were  fired  and  swords  drawn  on  both  sides ; Sir 
George  Staunton  offered  the  bravest  resistance,  till 
he  fell,  as  there  was  too  much  reason  to  believe,  by 
the  hand  of  a son,  so  long  sought,  and  now  at  length 
so  unhappily  met. 

While  Butler  was  half-stunned  with  this  intelli- 
gence, the  hoarse  voice  of  Knockdunder  added  to 
his  consternation. 

“ I will  take  the  liperty  to  take  down  the  pell- 
ropes,  Mr.  Putler,  as  I must  pe  taking  order  to  hang 
these  idle  people  up  to-morrow  morning,  to  teach 
them  more  consideration  in  their  doings  in  future/’ 

Butler  entreated  him  to  remember  the  act  abolish- 
ing the  heritable  jurisdictions,  and  that  he  ought  to 
send  them  to  Glasgow  or  Inverary,  to  be  tried  by 
the  Circuit.  Duncan  scorned  the  proposal. 

“ The  Jurisdiction  Act,”  he  said,  “had  nothing 
to  do  put  with  the  rebels,  and  specially  not  with 
Argyle’s  country ; and  he  would  hang  the  men  up 
all  three  in  one  row  before  coot  Leddy  Staunton’s 
windows,  which  would  be  a creat  comfort  to  her  in 
the  morning  to  see  that  the  coot  gentleman,  her 
husband,  had  been  suitably  afenged.” 

And  the  utmost  length  that  Butler’s  most  earn- 
est entreaties  could  prevail  was,  that  he  would  re- 
serve “ the  twa  pig  carles  for  the  Circuit,  but  as  for 
him  they  ca’d  the  Fustier,  he  should  try  how  he 
could  fustle  in  a swinging  tow,  for  it  suldna  be  said 
that  a shentleman,  friend  to  the  Duke,  was  killed  in 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN.  409 

his  country,  and  his  people  didna  take  at  least  twa, 
lives  for  ane.” 

Butler  entreated  him  to  spare  the  victim  for  his 
soul's  sake.  But  Knockdunder  answered,  “ that  the 
soul  of  such  a scum  had  been  long  the  tefil’s  property, 
and  that,  Cot  tarn ! he  was  determined  to  gif  the  tefil 
his  due.” 

All  persuasion  was  in  vain,  and  Duncan  issued  his 
mandate  for  execution  on  the  succeeding  morning. 
The  child  of  guilt  and  misery  was  separated  from 
his  companions,  strongly  pinioned,  and  committed  to 
a separate  room,  of  which  the  Captain  kept  the  key. 

In  the  silence  of  the  night,  however,  Mrs.  Butler 
arose,  resolved,  if  possible,  to  avert,  at  least  to  delay, 
the  fate  which  hung  over  her  nephew,  especially  if, 
upon  conversing  with  him,  she  should  see  any  hope 
of  his  being  brought  to  better  temper.  She  had  a 
master-key  that  opened  every  lock  in  the  house ; 
and  at  midnight,  when  all  was  still,  she  stood  before 
the  eyes  of  the  astonished  young  savage,  as,  hard 
bound  with  cords,  he  lay,  like  a sheep  designed  for 
slaughter,  upon  a quantity  of  the  refuse  of  flax 
which  filled  a corner  in  the  apartment.  Amid  fea- 
tures sun-burnt,  tawny,  grimed  with  dirt,  and  ob- 
scured by  his  shaggy  hair  of  a rusted  black  colour, 
Jeanie  tried  in  vain  to  trace  the  likeness  of  either  of 
his  very  handsome  parents.  Yet  how  could  she  re- 
fuse compassion  to  a creature  so  young  and  so 
wretched,  — so  much  more  wretched  than  even  he 
himself  could  be  aware  of,  since  the  murder  he  had 
too  probably  committed  with  his  own  hand,  but  in 
which  he  had  at  any  rate  participated,  was  in  fact  a 
parricide.  She  placed  food  on  a table  near  him, 
raised  him,  and  slacked  the  cords  on  his  arms,  so  as 
to  permit  him  to  feed  himself.  He  stretched  out 


410  TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 

his  hands,  still  smeared  with  blood,  perhaps  that  ol 
his  father,  and  he  ate  voraciously  and  in  silence. 

“ What  is  your  first  name  ? ” said  J eanie,  by  way 
of  opening  the  conversatiom 

“ The  Whistler.” 

“ But  your  Christian  name,  by  which  you  were 
baptized  ? ” 

“I  never  was  baptized  that  I know  of  — I have 
no  other  name  than  the  Whistler.” 

“Poor  unhappy  abandoned  lad!”  said  Jeanie. 
“ What  would  ye  do  if  you  could  escape  from 
this  place,  and  the  death  you  are  to  die  to-morrow 
morning  ? ” 

“Join  wi’  Eob  Eoy,  or  wi’  Sergeant  More  Cam- 
eron,” (noted  freebooters  at  that  time,)  “ and  revenge 
Donacha’s  death  on  all  and  sundry.” 

“ 0 ye  unhappy  boy,”  said  Jeanie,  “ do  ye  ken 
what  will  come  o’  ye  when  ye  die  ? ” 

“ I shall  neither  feel  cauld  nor  hunger  more,”  said 
the  youth  doggedly. 

“ To  let  him  be  execute  in  this  dreadful  state  of 
mind  would  be  to  destroy  baith  body  and  soul  — 
and  to  let  him  gang  I dare  not — what  will  be  done? 
— But  he  is  my  sister’s  son  — my  own  nephew  * — 
our  flesh  and  blood  — and  his  hands  and  feet  are 
yerked  as  tight  as  cords  can  be  drawn. — Whistler, 
do  the  cords  hurt  you  ? ” 

“Very  much.” 

“ But,  if  I were  to  slacken  them,  you  would  harm 
me?” 

“No,  I would  not  — you  never  harmed  me  or 
mine.” 

There  may  be  good  in  him  yet,  thought  Jeanie; 
I will  try  fair  play  with  him. 

She  cut  his  bonds  — he  stood  upright,  looked 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN.  411 

round  with  a laugh  of  wild  exultation,  clapped  his 
hands  together,  and  sprung  from  the  ground,  as  if 
in  transport  on  finding  himself  at  liberty.  He 
looked  so  wild,  that  Jeanie  trembled  at  what  she 
had  done. 

“ Let  me  out,”  said  the  young  savage. 

“ I wunna,  unless  you  promise  ” — 

“ Then  I’ll,  make  you  glad  to  let  us  both  out.” 

He  seized  the  lighted  candle  and  threw  it  among 
the  flax,  which  was  instantly  in  a flame.  Jeanie 
screamed,  and  ran  out  of  the  room  ; the  prisoner 
rushed  past  her,  threw  open  a window  in  the  pas- 
sage, jumped  into  the  garden,  sprung  over  its  en- 
closure, bounded  through  the  woods  like  a deer,  and 
gained  the  sea-shore.  Meantime,  the  fire  was  ex- 
tinguished, but  the  prisoner  was  sought  in  vain.  As 
Jeanie  kept  her  own  secret,  the  share  she  had  in  his 
escape  was  not  discovered  ; but  they  learned  his  fate 
some  time  afterwards  — it  was  as  wild  as  his  life  had 
hitherto  been. 

The  anxious  enquiries  of  Butler  at  length  learned, 
that  the  youth  had  gained  the  ship  in  which  his 
master,  Donacha,  had  designed  to  embark.  But  the 
avaricious  shipmaster,  inured  by  his  evil  trade  to 
every  species  of  treachery,  and  disappointed  of  the 
rich  booty  which  Donacha  had  proposed  to  bring 
aboard,  secured  the  person  of  the  fugitive,  and  hav- 
ing transported  him  to  America,  sold  him  as  a slave, 
or  indented  servant,  to  a Virginian  planter,  far  up 
the  country.  When  these  tidings  reached  Butler, 
he  sent  over  to  America  a sufficient  sum  to  redeem 
the  lad  from  slavery,  with  instructions  that  measures 
should  be  taken  for  improving  his  mind,  restraining 
his  evil  propensities,  and  encouraging  whatever  good 
might  appear  in  his  character.  But  this  aid  came  too 


412  TALES  OF  MY  LANDLORD. 

late.  The  young  man  had  headed  a conspiracy*  in 
which  his  inhuman  master  was  put  to  death,  and 
had  then  fled  to  the  next  tribe  of  wild  Indians.  He 
was  never  more  heard  of ; and  it  may  therefore  be 
presumed  that  he  lived  and  died  after  the  manner  of 
that  savage  people,  with  whom  his  previous  habits 
had  well  fitted  him  to  associate. 

All  hopes  of  the  young  man’s  reformation  being 
now  ended,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Butler  thought  it  could 
serve  no  purpose  to  explain  to  Lady  Staunton  a 
history  so  full  of  horror.  She  remained  their  guest 
more  than  a year,  during  the  greater  part  of  which 
period  her  grief  was  excessive.  In  the  latter  months, 
it  assumed  the  appearance  of  listlessness  and  low 
spirits,  which  the  monotony  of  her  sister’s  quiet 
establishment  afforded  no  means  of  dissipating. 
Effie,  from  her  earliest  youth,  was  never  formed 
for  a quiet  low  content.  Far  different  from  her 
sister,  she  required  the  dissipation  of  society  to 
divert  her  sorrow,  or  enhance  her  joy.  She  left  the 
seclusion  of  Knocktarlitie  with  tears  of  sincere 
affection,  and  after  heaping  its  inmates  with  all  she 
could  think  of  that  might  be  valuable  in  their  eyes. 
But  she  did  leave  it ; and  when  thfc  anguish  of  the 
parting  was  over,  her  departure  was  a relief  to  both 
sisters. 

The  family  at  the  Manse  of  Knocktarlitie,  in 
their  own  quiet  happiness,  heard  of  the  well-dowered 
and  beautiful  Lady  Staunton  resuming  her  place 
in  the  fashionable  world.  They  learned  it  by  more 
substantial  proofs,  for  David  received  a commission  ; 
and  as  the  military  spirit  of  Bible  Butler  seemed 
to  have  revived  in  him,  his  good  behaviour  quali- 
fied the  envy  of  five  hundred  young  Highland  ca 
dets,  “ come  of  good  houses,”  who  were  astonished 


THE  HEART  OE  MID-LOTHIAN. 


413 


at  the  rapidity  of  his  promotion.  .Reuben  followed 
the  law,  and  rose  more  slowly,  yet  surely.  Euphe- 
mia  Butler,  whose  fortune,  augmented  by  her  aunt’s 
generosity,  and  added  to  her  own  beauty,  rendered 
her  no  small  prize,  married  a Highland  laird,  who 
never  asked  the  name  of  her  grandfather,  and  was 
loaded  on  the  occasion  with  presents  from  Lady 
Staunton,  which  made  her  the  envy  of  all  the  beau- 
ties in  Dunbarton  and  Argyle-shires. 

After  blazing  nearly  ten  years  in  the  fashionable 
world,  and  hiding,  like  many  of  her  compeers,  an 
aching  heart  with  a gay  demeanour ; — after  declin- 
ing repeated  offers  of  the  most  respectable  kind 
for  a second  matrimonial  engagement,  Lady  Staun- 
ton betrayed  the  inward  wound  by  retiring  to  the 
Continent,  and  taking  up  her  abode  in  the  convent 
where  she  had  received  her  education.  She  never 
took  the  veil,  but  lived  and  died  in  severe  seclusion, 
and  in  the  practice  of  the  Roman  Catholic  religion, 
in  all  its  formal  observances,  vigils,  and  austerities. 

Jeanie  had  so  much  of  her  father’s  spirit  as  to 
sorrow  bitterly  for  this  apostacy,  and  Butler  joined 
in  her  regret.  “ Yet  any  religion,  however  imper- 
fect,” he  said,  “ was  better  than  cold  scepticism, 
or  the  hurrying  din  of  dissipation,  which  fills  the 
ears  of  worldlings,  until  they  care  for  none  of  these 
things.” 

Meanwhile,  happy  in  each  other,  in  the  prosper- 
ity of  their  family,  and  the  love  and  honour  of  all 
who  knew  them,  this  simple  pair  lived  beloved,  and 
died  lamented. 

Readek  — This  tale  will  not  be  told  in  vain,  if  it 
shall  be  found  to  illustrate  the  great  truth,  that  guilt, 
though  it  may  attain  temporal  splendour  can  never 


4 H 


TALES  OE  MY  LANDLORD. 


confer  real  happiness ; that  the  evil  consequences 
of  our  crimes  long  survive  their  commission,  and, 
like  the  ghosts  of  the  murdered,  for  ever  haunt  the 
steps  of  the  malefactor;  and  that  the  paths  of  vir- 
tue, though  seldom  those  of  worldly  greatness,  are 
always  those  of  pleasantness  and  peace» 


L' Envoy,  ly  Jedediah  Cleishbotham. 


Thus  concludeth  the  Tale  of  “ The  Heabt  of  Mid 
Lothian/'  which  hath  filled  more  pages  than  I 
opined.  The  Heart  of  Mid-Lothian  is  now  no 
more,  or  rather  it  is  transferred  to  the  extreme  side 
of  the  city,  even  as  the  Sieur  Jean  Baptiste  Poque- 
lin hath  it,  in  his  pleasant  comedy  called  Le  Me - 
decin  Malgre  lui , where  the  simulated  doctor  wit- 
tily  replieth  to  a charge,  that  he  had  placed  the 
heart  on  the  right  side,  instead  of  the  left,  “ Cela 
etoit  autrefois  ainsi,  mais  nous  avons  change  tout 
cela  ” Of  which  witty  speech,  if  any  reader  shall 
demand  the  purport,  I have  only  to  respond,  that 
I teach  the  French  as  well  as  the  Classical  tongues, 
at  the  easy  rate  of  five  shillings  per  quarter,  as  my 
advertisements  are  periodically  making  known  to 
the  public. 


AUTHOR’S  NOTES 


Note  I.,  p.  240.  — Madge  Wildfire. 

In  taking  leave  of  the  poor  maniac,  the  author  may  here  ob- 
serve, that  the  first  conception  of  the  character,  though  after- 
wards greatly  altered,  was  taken  from  that  of  a person  calling 
herself,  and  called  by  others,  Feckless  Fannie,  (weak  or  feeble 
Fannie,)  who  always  travelled  with  a small  flock  of  sheep. 
The  following  account,  furnished  by  the  persevering  kindness 
of  Mr.  Train,  contains  probably  all  that  can  now  be  known  of 
her  history,  though  many,  among  whom  is  the  author,  may  re- 
member having  heard  of  Feckless  Fannie,  in  the  days  of  their 
youth. 

“ My  leisure  hours,”  says  Mr.  Train,  “for  some  time  past 
have  been  mostly  spent  in  searching  for  particulars  relating  to 
the  maniac  called  Feckless  Fannie,  who  travelled  over  all 
Scotland  and  England,  between  the  years  1767  and  1775,  and 
whose  history  is  altogether  so  like  a romance,  that  I have  been 
at  all  possible  pains  to  collect  every  particular  that  can  be  found 
relative  to  her  in  Galloway,  or  in  Ayrshire. 

“ When  Feckless  Fannie  appeared  in  Ayrshire,  for  the  first 
time,  in  the  summer  of  1769,  she  attracted  much  notice,  from 
being  attended  by  twelve  or  thirteen  sheep,  who  seemed  all  en- 
dued with  faculties  so  much  superior  to  the  ordinary  race  of 
animals  of  the  same  species,  as  to  excite  universal  astonish- 
ment. She  had  for  each  a different  name,  to  which  it  an- 
swered when  called  by  its  mistress,  and  would  likewise  obey 
in  the  most  surprising  manner  any  command  she  thought  pro- 
per to  give.  When  travelling,  she  always  walked  in  front  of 
her  flock,  and  they  followed  her  closely  behind.  When  she 
lay  down  at  night  in  the  fields,  for  she  would  never  enter  into 
a house,  they  always  disputed  who  should  lie  next  to  her,  by 
which  means  she  was  kept  warm,  while  she  lay  in  the  midst  of 
them ; when  she  attempted  to  rise  from  the  ground,  an  old 


418 


AUTHOR'S  NOTES. 


ram,  whose  name  was  Charlie,  always  claimed  the  sole  right  of 
assisting  her  ; pushing  any  that  stood  in  his  way  aside,  until 
he  arrived  right  before  his  mistress  ; he  then  bowed  his  head 
nearly  to  the  ground  that  she  might  lay  her  hands  on  his 
horns,  which  were  very  large ; he  then  lifted  her  gently  from 
the  ground  by  raising  his  head.  If  she  chanced  to  leave  her 
flock  feeding,  as  soon  as  they  discovered  she  was  gone,  they  all 
began  to  bleat  most  piteously,  and  would  continue  to  do  so  till 
she  returned  ; they  would  then  testify  their  joy  by  rubbing 
their  sides  against  her  petticoat,  and  frisking  about. 

“Feckless  Fannie  wras  not,  like  most  other  demented  crea- 
tures, fond  of  fine  dress  ; on  her  head  she  wore  an  old  slouched 
hat,  over  her  shoulders  an  old  plaid,  and  carried  always  in  her 
hand  a shepherd’s  crook ; with  any  of  these  articles,  she  invari- 
ably declared  she  would  not  part  for  any  consideration  what- 
ever. When  she  was  interrogated  why  she  set  so  much  value 
on  things  seemingly  so  insignificant,  she  would  sometimes  re- 
late the  history  of  her  misfortune,  which  was  briefly  as 
follows : 

44  4 1 am  the  only  daughter  of  a wealthy  squire  in  the  north  of 
England,  but  I loved  my  father’s  shepherd,  and  that  has  been 
my  ruin  ; for  my  father,  fearing  his  family  would  be  disgraced 
by  such  an  alliance,  in  a passion  mortally  wounded  my  lover 
with  a shot  from  a pistol.  I arrived  just  in  time  to  receive  the 
last  blessing  of  the  dying  man,  and  to  close  his  eyes  in  death. 
He  bequeathed  me  his  little  all,  but  I only  accepted  these 
sheep  to  be  my  sole  companions  through  life,  and  this  hat, 
this  plaid,  and  this  crook,  all  of  which  I will  carry  until  I de- 
scend into  the  grave.’ 

“This  is  the  substance  of  a ballad,  eighty -four  lines  of  which 
I copied  down  lately  from  the  recitation  of  an  old  woman  in 
this  place,  who  says  she  has  seen  it  in  print,  with  a plate  on  the 
title-page,  representing  Fannie  with  her  sheep  behind  her.  As 
this  ballad  is  said  to  have  been  written  by  Lowe,  the  author  of 
Mary’s  Dream,  I am  surprised  that  it  has  not  been  noticed  by 
Cromek,  in  his  Remains  of  Nithsdale  and  Galloway  Song; 
but  he  perhaps  thought  it  unworthy  of  a place  in  his  collec- 
tion, as  there  is  very  little  merit  in  the  composition ; which 
want  of  room  prevents  me  from  transcribing  at  present.  But 
if  I thought  you  had  never  seen  it,  I would  take  an  early  op- 
portunity of  doing  so. 

44  After  having  made  the  tour  of  Galloway  in  1769,  as  Fannie 


AUTHOR’S  NOTES. 


419 


was  wandering  in  the  neighbourhood  of  Moffat,  on  her  way 
to  Edinburgh,  where,  I am  informed,  she  was  likewise  well 
known,  Old  Charlie,  her  favourite  ram,  chanced  to  break  into 
a kaleyard,  which  the  proprietor  observing,  let  loose  a mastiff 
that  hunted  the  poor  sheep  to  death.  This  was  a sad  mis- 
fortune ; it  seemed  to  renew  all  the  pangs  which  she  formerly 
felt  on  the  death  of  her  lover.  She  would  not  part  from  the 
side  of  her  old  friend  for  several  days,  and  it  was  with  much  diffi- 
culty she  consented  to  allow  him  to  be  buried;  but,  still  wishing 
to  pay  a tribute  to  his  memory,  she  covered  his  grave  with  moss, 
and  fenced  it  round  with  osiers,  and  annually  returned  to  the 
same  spot,  and  pulled  the  weeds  from  the  grave  and  repaired 
the  fence.  This  is  altogether  like  a romance  ; but  I believe  it 
is  really  true  that  she  did  so.  The  grave  of  Charlie  is  still 
held  sacred  even  by  the  schoolboys  of  the  present  day  in  that 
quarter.  It  is  now,  perhaps,  the  only  instance  of  the  law  of 
Kenneth  being  attended  to,  which  says,  4 The  grave  where  anie 
that  is  slaine  lieth  buried,  leave  untilled  for  seven  years.  Re- 
pute every  grave  holie  so  as  thou  be  well  advised,  that  in  no 
wise  with  thy  feet  thou  tread  upon  it.1 

“ Through  the  storms  of  winter,  as  well  as  in  the  milder 
season  of  the  year,  she  continued  her  wandering  course,  nor 
could  she  be  prevented  from  doing  so,  either  by  entreaty  or 
promise  of  reward.  The  late  Dr.  Eullarton  of  Rosemount,  in 
the  neighbourhood  of  Ayr,  being  well  acquainted  with  her 
father  when  in  England,  endeavoured,  in  a severe  season,  by 
every  means  in  his  power,  to  detain  her  at  Rosemount  for  a 
few  days  until  the  weather  should  become  more  mild ; but 
when  she  found  herself  rested  a little,  and  saw  her  sheep  fed, 
she  raised  her  crook,  which  was  the  signal  she  always  gave  for 
the  sheep  to  follow  her,  and  off  they  all  marched  together. 

“ But  the  hour  of  poor  Fannie’s  dissolution  was  now  at  hand, 
and  she  seemed  anxious  to  arrive  at  the  spot  where  she  was  to 
terminate  her  mortal  career.  She  proceeded  to  Glasgow,  and, 
while  passing  through  that  city,  a crowd  of  idle  boys,  attracted 
by  her  singular  appearance,  together  with  the  novelty  of  see- 
ing so  many  sheep  obeying  her  command,  began  to  torment 
her  with  their  pranks,  till  she  became  so  irritated  that  she 
pelted  them  with  bricks  and  stones,  which  they  returned  in 
such  a manner,  that  she  was  actually  stoned  to  death  between 
Glasgow  and  Anderston. 

44  To  the  real  history  of  this  singular  individual,  credulity 


420 


AUTHOR’S  NOTES. 


has  attached  several  superstitions  appendages.  It  is  said,  that 
the  farmer  who  was  the  cause  of  Charlie’s  deaths  shortly  after- 
wards drowned  himself  in  a peat-hag ; and  that  the  hand,  with 
which  a butcher  in  Kilmarnock  struck  one  of  the  other  sheep, 
became  powerless,  and  withered  to  the  very  bone.  In  the 
summer  of  1769,  when  she  was  passing  by  New  Cumnock,  a 
young  man,  whose  name  was  William  Forsyth,  son  of  a farmer 
in  the  same  parish,  plagued  her  so  much  that  she  wished  he 
might  never  see  the  morn ; upon  which  he  went  home  and 
hanged  himself  in  his  father’s  barn.  And  I doubt  not  many 
such  stories  may  yet  be  remembered  in  other  parts  where  she 
had  been.” 

So  far  Mr.  Train.  The  author  can  only  add  to  this  narra- 
tive, that  Feckless  Fannie  and  her  little  flock  were  well  known 
in  the  pastoral  districts. 

In  attempting  to  introduce  such  a character  into  fiction,  the 
author  felt  the  risk  of  encountering  a comparison  with  the 
Maria  of  Sterne  ; and,  besides,  the  mechanism  of  the  story 
would  have  been  as  much  retarded  by  Feckless  Fannie’s  flock, 
as  the  night-march  of  Don  Quixote  was  delayed  by  Sancho’s 
tale  of  the  sheep  that  were  ferried  over  the  river. 

The  author  has  only  to  add,  that  notwithstanding  the  pre- 
ciseness of  his  friend  Mr.  Train’s  statement,  there  may  be  some 
hopes  that  the  outrage  on  Feckless  Fannie  and  her  little  flock 
was  not  carried  to  extremity.  There  is  no  mention  of  any 
trial  on  account  of  it,  which,  had  it  occurred  in  the  manner 
stated,  would  have  certainly  taken  place  ; and  the  author  has 
understood  that  it  was  on  the  Border  she  was  last  seen,  about 
the  skirts  of  the  Cheviot  hills,  but  without  her  little  flock. 

Note  II.,  p.  277.  — Death  op  Francis  Gordon. 

This  exploit  seems  to  have  been  one  in  which  Patrick  Wal- 
ker prided  himself  not  a little  ; and  there  is  reason  to  fear,  that 
that  excellent  person  would  have  highly  resented  the  attempt 
to  associate  another  with  him,  in  the  slaughter  of  a King’s 
Life-Guardsman.  Indeed,  he  would  have  had  the  more  right  to 
be  offended  at  losing  any  share  of  the  glory,  since  the  party 
against  Gordon  was  already  three  to  one,  besides  having  the 
advantage  of  fire-arms.  The  manner  in  which  he  vindicates 
his  claim  to  the  exploit,  without  committing  himself  by  a 
direct  statement  of  it,  is  not  a little  amusing.  It  is  as  follows  : — 


AUTHOR’S  NOTES. 


421 


I shall  give  a brief  and  true  account  of  that  man’s  death, 
which  I did  not  design  to  do  while  I was  upon  the  stage ; I re- 
solve, indeed,  (if  it  be  the  Lord’s  will,)  to  leave  a more  full 
account  of  that  and  many  other  remarkable  steps  of  the  Lord’s 
dispensations  towards  me  through  my  life.  It  was  then  com- 
monly said,  that  Francis  Gordon  was  a volunteer  out  of  wick- 
edness of  principles,  and  could  not  stay  with  the  troop,  hut 
was  still  raging  and  ranging  to  catch  hiding  suffering  people. 
Meldrum  and  Airly’s  troops,  lying  at  Lanark  upon  the  first 
day  of  March  1682,  Mr.  Gordon  and  another  wicked  comrade, 
with  their  two  servants  and  four  horses,  came  to  Kilcaigow,  two 
miles  from  Lanark,  searching  for  William  Caigow  and  others 
under  hiding.  ’ 

“ Mr-  Gordon,  rambling  throw  the  town,  offered  to  abuse 
the  women.  At  night,  they  came  a mile  further  to  the  Easter- 
Seat,  to  Robert  Muir’s,  he  being  also  under  hiding.  Gordon’s 
comrade  and  the  two  servants  went  to  bed,  but  he  could  sleep 
none,  roaring  all  night  for  women.  When  day  came,  he  took 
only  his  sword  in  his  hand,  and  came  to  Moss-platt,  and  some 
new  men  (who  had  been  in  the  fields  all  night)  seeing  him, 
they  fled,  and  he  pursued.  James  Wilson,  Thomas  Young,’ 
and  myself,  having  been  in  a meeting  all  night,  were  lyino’ 
down  in  the  morning.  We  were  alarmed,  thinking  there  were 
many  more  than  one ; he  pursued  hard,  and  overtook  us. 
Thomas  Young  said,  ‘ Sir,  what  do  ye  pursue  us  for  ? ’ he  said 
‘he  was  come  to  send  us  to  hell.’  James  Wilson  said,  ‘that 
shall  not  be,  for  we  will  defend  ourselves.’  He  said,  ‘that 
either  he  or  we  should  go  to  it  now.’  He  run  his  sword  furi- 
ously throw  James  Wilson’s  coat.  James  fired  upon  him,  but 
missed  him.  All  this  time  he  cried,  Damn  his  soul ! He  got 
a shot  in  his  head  out  of  a pocket  pistol,  rather  fit  for  divert- 
ing a boy  than  killing  such  a furious,  mad,  brisk  man,  which 
notwithstanding,  killed  him  dead.  The  foresaid  William 
Caigow  and  Robert  Muir  came  to  us.  We  searched  him  for 
papers,  and  found  a long  scroll  of  sufferers’  names,  either  to 
kill  or  take  I tore  it  all  in  pieces.  He  had  also  some  Popish 
books  and  bonds  of  money,  with  one  dollar,  which  a poor  man 
took  off  the  ground ; all  which  we  put  in  his  pocket  again. 
Thus,  he  was  four  miles  from  Lanark,  and  near  a mile  from 
his  comrade,  seeking  his  own  death,  and  got  it.  And  for  as 
much  as  we  have  been  condemned  for  this,  I could  never  see 
how  any  one  could  condemn  us  that  allows  of  self-defence, 


422 


AUTHOR’S  NOTES. 


which  the  laws  both  of  God  and  nature  allow  to  every  crea- 
ture. For  my  own  part,  my  heart  never  smote  me  for  this. 
When  I saw  his  blood  run,  I wished  that  all  the  blood  of  the 
Lord’s  stated  and  avowed  enemies  in  Scotland  had  been  in 
his  veins.  Having  such  a clear  call  and  opportunity,  I would 
have  rejoiced  to  have  seen  it  all  gone  out  with  a gush.  I have 
many  times  wondered  at  the  greater  part  of  the  indulged,  luke- 
warm ministers  and  professors  in  that  time,  who  made  more 
noise  of  murder,  when  one  of  these  enemies  had  been  killed 
even  in  our  own  defence,  than  of  twenty  of  us  being  murdered 
by  them.  None  of  these  men  present  was  challenged  for  this 
but  myself.  Thomas  Young  thereafter  suffered  at  Machline, 
but  was  not  challenged  for  this  ; Robert  Muir  was  banished  ; 
James  Wilson  outlived  the  persecution  ; William  Caigow  died 
in  the  Canongate  Tolbooth,  in  the  beginning  of  1685.  Mr. 
Wodrow  is  misinformed ; who  says,  that  he  suffered  unto 
death.” 

Note  III.,  p.  302. — Tolling  to  Service  in  Scotland. 

In  the  old  days  of  Scotland,  when  persons  of  property  (un- 
less they  happened  to  be  non-jurors)  were  as  regular  as  their 
inferiors  in  attendance  on  parochial  worship,  there  was  a kind 
of  etiquette,  in  waiting  till  the  patron  or  acknowledged  great 
man  of  the  parish  should  make  his  appearance.  This  cere- 
monial was  so  sacred  in  the  eyes  of  a parish  beadle  in  the  Isle 
of  Bute,  that  the  kirk  bell  being  out  of  order,  he  is  said  to 
have  mounted  the  steeple  every  Sunday,  to  imitate  with  his 
voice  the  successive  summonses  which  its  mouth  of  metal  used 
to  send  forth.  The  first  part  of  this  imitative  harmony  was 
simply  the  repetition  of  the  words  Bell  bell , bell  bell , two  or 
three  times,  in  a manner  as  much  resembling  the  sound  as 
throat  of  flesh  could  imitate  throat  of  iron.  Belliim  ! belliim ! 
was  sounded  forth  in  a more  urgent  manner  ; but  he  never 
sent  forth  the  third  and  conclusive  peal,  the  varied  tone  of 
which  is  called  in  Scotland  the  ringing-in , until  the  two  prin- 
cipal heritors  of  the  parish  approached,  when  the  chime  ran 
thus : — 

Bellum  Bellellum , 

Berner  a and  Knockdowns  coming  ! 

Belliim  Bellellum , 

Bernera  and  Knockdowns  coming  l 

Thereby  intimating,  that  service  was  instantly  to  proceed. 


GLOSSARY 


A’,  all. 

Aboon,  abune,  above. 

Ae,  one. 

Aff,  off. 

Afore,  before. 

Agane,  against,  before. 

Agee,  twisted. 

Ain,  own. 

Air,  early. 

Aiths,  oaths. 

Amaist,  almost. 

An,  if,  suppose. 

Ance,  once, 

Ane,  one. 

Aneath,  beneath. 

Anent,  regarding. 

Athegither,  altogether. 

Aught,  possession. 

Auld,  old.  “Auld  sorrow,” 
an  old  wretch. 

Ava,  at  all. 

Awa,  away. 

Awee,  a little. 

Aweel,  well. 

Ayont,  beyond. 

Bairn,  a child. 

Baith,  both. 

Bake,  a small  cake  or  biscuit. 
Band,  a bond. 

Bannock,  a flat  round  cake. 
Bauld,  bold. 

Bauson-faced,  having  a white 
oblong  spot  on  the  face. 
Bawbee,  a halfpenny. 

Beck,  to  make  obeisance,  to 
curtsey. 

Bedral,  a beadle,  a sexton. 


Belive,  directly. 

Bestial  — a term  used  to  de- 
note all  the  cattle  on  an 
estate. 

Bide,  to  wait,  to  bear,  to  rest 
under. 

Bien,  comfortable. 

Binna,  be  not. 

Bittock,  a little  bit,  a short  dis- 
tance. 

Blawn,  blown. 

Bluid,  blood. 

Boddle,  a small  copper  coin. 
Bourock,  a hillock. 

Brae,  a hill. 

Brawly,  finely. 

Brockit,  white-faced. 

Brogue,  a shoe. 

Broo,  taste  for,  opinion  of. 

By,  besides. 

Byre,  a cow-house. 

Ca’,  call. 

Callant,  a lad. 

Caller,  cool,  fresh. 

Canna,  cannot. 

Canny,  lucky,  prudent. 
Car-cake,  a small  cake  baked 
with  eggs. 

Carle,  a fellow. 

Cast,  lot,  fate  ; also  to  throw. 
Cauld,  cold. 

Caup,  a cup,  a wooden  bowl. 
Ceeted,  cited. 

Chalder,  a dry  measure  = 16 
bolls. 

Change-house,  a small  inn. 
Chappit,  struck. 


426 


GLOSSARY. 


Chucky,  a fowl. 

Clachan,  a hamlet. 
Clack-geese,  barnacle  geese. 
Claise,  clothes. 

Claiths,  clothes. 

Clat,  a pose  (of  money). 
Clatter,  to  be  loquacious. 
Clavering,  talking  idly  and 
foolishly. 

Cleugh,  a ravine. 

Clute,  a hoof,  a single  beast. 
Cockernony,  a lady’s  top-knot. 
Coup,  to  overturn. 

Couthy,  pleasant  to  the  ear. 
Cowt,  a colt. 

Crack,  cracks,  gossip  or  talk. 
Creagh,  the  plunder  of  cattle. 
Crewels,  scrofula. 

Cummer,  a gossip,  a midwife. 
Curch,  a woman’s  cap. 

Cuthy,  a slut,  a worthless  girl. 

Daffing,  folly  in  general. 

Daft,  crazy. 

Dainty,  comely,  agreeable. 
Darg,  a day’s  work. 

Daur,  dare. 

Deave,  to  deafen. 

Deil,  the  devil.  “Deil’s 
buckie,”  a perverse  or  re- 
fractory person. 

Deuk,  duck. 

Dinna,  do  not. 

Dinnle,  a shivering  blow. 

Dits,  stops  up. 

Doited,  turned  to  dotage,  stu- 
pid, confused. 

Donnard,  stupid. 

Dookit,  ducked. 

Douce,  quiet,  respectable. 
Doun,  down. 

Dour,  obstinate. 

Downa,  do  not,  cannot. 
Driegh,  tardy,  slow,  tiresome. 
Drouthy,  thirsty. 

Duddie,  ragged. 

Duds,  rags. 

Ee,  the  eye. 

E’en,  even,  evening. 


Eneuch,  eneugh,  enough. 

Fash,  fasherie,  trouble. 
Fashious,  troublesome. 

Fause,  false. 

Faut,  fault. 

Feckless,  powerless,  feeble. 
Fend,  to  defend,  to  keep  out 
bad  weather,  to  provide 
against  want. 

Fleg,  a fright. 

Fliskmahoy,  a silly  flirt. 
Forbear,  a forefather. 

Forby,  besides. 

Forgather,  to  come  together, 
to  become  intimate. 
Foranent,  in  front  of,  oppo- 
site. 

Fou,  full,  drunk. 

Frae,  from. 

Fu’,  full. 

Fuff,  to  whiff. 

Fule,  a fool. 

Gade,  went. 

Gaitts,  brats. 

Gane,  gone. 

Gang,  to  go. 

Gant,  to  yawn. 

Gar,  to  make,  to  oblige. 

Gar dy loo  (Fr.  garde  de  Veau ), 
— a cry  made  when  water 
was  thrown  out  of  a window. 
Gate,  way,  direction,  manner. 
Gauger,  an  exciseman. 

Gaun,  going. 

Gawsie,  plump,  jolly. 

Gear,  property. 

“ Gey  and  weel,”  very  well. 
Gie,  give. 

Gin,  if,  suppose. 

Girdle,  a circular  iron  plate  for 
baking  scones. 

Gowan,  a daisy. 

Gowd,  gold. 

Gree,  to  agree. 

Gree,  reputation. 

Greeshoch,  a turf  fire. 

Greet,  grat,  to  cry,  to  weep. 
Gude,  God,  good. 


GLOSSARY. 


427 


Gudeman,  the  husband,  the 
head  of  the  house. 

Gudewife,  a familiar  term  ap- 
plied to  a wife  as  head  of  the 
household. 

Gulley,  a knife. 

Guse,  a goose. 

Hae,  have.  Haena,  have  not. 

Haffits,  the  temples. 

Hafted,  domiciled. 

Haill,  hale,  whole,  entire. 

Hallan,  the  partition  in  old  cot- 
tages between  the  fireplace 
and  the  doorway. 

Hame,  home. 

Hapnyworth,  a halfpenny- 
worth. 

Haud,  to  hold. 

Hawkit,  white-faced  (applied 
to  cattle). 

Hellicat,  half-witted. 

Hempie,  a rogue. 

Herse,  hoarse. 

Het,  hot. 

Hinny,  a term  of  endearment 
— - honey  ! 

Hirpling,  walking  lamely, 
halting. 

Hog,  a young  unshorn  sheep. 

How,  a hollow. 

Hund,  a hound. 

Hussy,  a needlecase. 

Ilka,  each,  every. 

Instruct,  to  show  evidence  for. 

I’se,  I shall. 

Ither,  other. 

Jaud,  a jade. 

Jowing,  the  swinging  noise  of 
a large  bell. 

Kale,  kail,  soup,  broth. 

Kamed,  combed. 

Ken,  to  know. 

Kensna,  knows  not. 

Kenspeckle,  conspicuous,  odd. 

Killing-time,  the  time  of  per- 
secution. 


Kintra,  the  country. 

Kirk,  a church. 

Kirkit,  led  to  church. 

Kittle,  ticklish,  slippery. 
Knowehead,  the  top  of  the  hill. 
Kye,  cows. 

Kylevine,  a lead-pencil. 

Laigh,  low. 

Laird,  a squire,  lord  of  the 
manor. 

Landward-bred,  country -bred. 
Lane,  lone,  alone.  By  a pecul- 
iar idiom,  in  the  Scotch  this 
is  frequently  conjoined  with 
the  pronoun  : as,  “ his 

lane,”  “ their  lane,”  by 
himself,  by  themselves. 
Langsyne,  long  since,  long 
ago. 

Lawing,  reckoning. 

Learn,  to  teach. 

Lee,  a lie. 

Lese-majesty,  treason. 

Lift,  the  sky. 

Lilt,  to  sing  cheerfully. 
Limmer,  a jade,  a scoundrel. 
Lippen,  to  rely  upon. 

Loof,  the  palm  of  the  hand. 
Loot,  to  permit. 

Lounder,  to  thump. 

Low,  a flame. 

Luckie-dad,  grandfather. 

Lug,  the  ear. 

Lum,  a chimney. 

Lunnon,  London. 

Magg,  to  steal. 

Mail,  payable  rent. 

Mair,  more. 

“Mair  by  token,”  especially, 

moreover. 

Maist,  most. 

Manse,  a Scotch  parsonage. 
Manty,  a mantle. 

Maukin,  a hare. 

Maun,  must. 

Maunna,  must  not. 

Maw,  to  mow. 

Mell,  to  meddle. 


428 


GLOSSARY. 


Mensefu’,  mannerly,  modest. 
Midden,  a dung-hill. 

Mind,  to  remember. 

Minny,  mother. 

Misca’,  to  miscall,  to  malign. 
Mony,  many. 

“Morn,  the,”  to-morrow. 
Muckle,  much. 

Muir-ill,  a disease  to  which 
black  cattle  are  subject. 
Muir-poots,  young  grouse. 
Mull,  a snuff-box. 

Mutchkin,  a pint  measure. 

Na,  nae,  no,  not. 

Naig,  a nag. 

Natheless,  nevertheless, 
Noited,  rapped,  knocked. 
Nowte,  black  cattle. 

Or,  before. 

Out-by,  without. 

Outgate,  a way  for  egress. 
Ower,  over. 

Owerby,  over  the  way. 

Owsen,  oxen. 

Parritch,  porridge. 

“ Pickle  in  thine  ain  poke- 
nook,”  supply  yourself  out 
of  your  own  means. 

Pigg,  an  earthenware  jar. 

Pike,  to  pick. 

Pioted,  piebald. 

Pit,  to  put. 

Plack,  a small  copper  coin. 
Plenishing,  household  furni- 
ture. 

Policy,  the  pleasure-grounds 
about  a gentleman’s  seat. 
Pouch,  a pocket. 

Pow,  head. 

Powny,  a pony. 

Prestation,  a payment  of 
money. 

Propine,  gift,  present. 

Pu’pit,  a pulpit. 

Puir,  poor. 

Quean,  a wench,  a young 
woman. 


Quey,  a young  cow. 

Rap,  to  swear  falsely. 
Rapparees,  worthless  fellows. 

“ Redding  up,”  clearing  up. 
Reek,  smoke. 

Ripe,  to  search. 

Rive,  to  rend,  to  tear. 
Rouping,  an  auction. 

Roup  it,  hoarse. 

Rowing,  rolling. 

Sae,  so. 

Sain,  to  bless. 

“ St.  Nicholas’  clerks,”  high- 
waymen. 

Sair,  sore. 

Sail,  shall. 

Sauld,  sold. 

Saunt,  a saint. 

Saut,  salt. 

Scart,  a scratch. 

Scauding,  scalding. 

Schule,  a school. 

Scomfish,  to  suffocate. 
Scouping,  skipping. 

Scour,  to  put  forward,  to 
stick. 

Shankit,  handled. 

Shed,  to  protect,  to  divide,  to 
separate. 

Shoon,  shoes. 

Shouther,  the  shoulder, 

Sic,  such. 

Siller,  money.  Sillerless,  with- 
out money. 

Skaith,  harm. 

Skeely,  skilful. 

Skirl,  to  squeal,  to  sing  vocif- 
erously. 

Skrimp,  to  straiten,  to  save. 
Snaw,  snow. 

“ Snog  and  snod,”  neat,  tidy. 
Sodger,  a soldier. 

Soothfast,  honest. 

Sort,  to  arrange,  to  accommo- 
date. 

Soup,  sup. 

Southered,  soldered. 

Sowens,  a sort  of  gruel. 


GLOSSARY. 


429 


Spaeing,  foretelling. 

Speer,  to  inquire,  to  ask. 
Spleuchan,  a pouch. 

Sporran,  a leather  pouch. 
Spune,  a spoon. 

Spunk,  a fire,  a match  ; spirit, 
courage. 

Stoiting,  staggering. 

Stow,  to  cut  off,  to  lop. 

Stude,  stood. 

Suld,  should. 

Sune,  soon. 

Synd,  to  rinse,  to  wash. 

Syne,  since,  ago  ; late. 

Tae,  the  one. 

Tailzie,  an  entail. 

“ Tap  in  my  lap,”  take  up  my 

baggage. 

Tawpie,  an  awkward  girl. 
Tent,  care. 

Thae,  these,  those. 

Tither,  tother,  the  other. 
Tittie,  a little  pet,  a sister. 
Toom,  empty. 

Touk,  a beat  (as  of  a drum). 
Tout,  sound  (of  a horn). 
Trews,  trousers. 

Trow,  to  believe. 

Tyne,  lose. 

Umquhile,  whilom,  ci-devant, 
late. 

Unchancy,  dangerous. 

Unco,  very,  unusual,  particu- 
larly. 

Upgang,  the  act  of  ascending. 
Uphaud,  to  uphold. 
Usquebaugh,  whisky. 

Victual,  grain  of  any  kind. 

Wa’,  wall. 

Wad,  a pledge,  a wager. 

Wad,  would. 


Wadset,  a mortgage. 
Waesome,  woful. 

Waff,  a blast. 

Wampishing,  tossing. 

Wanter,  a bachelor ; also,  a 
widower. 

Ware,  to  expend,  to  lay  out. 
Warna,  were  not. 

Warst,  worst. 

Warstle,  wrestle. 

Wastrife,  waste. 

Wauff,  a wave. 

Wauken,  awaken. 

Waur,  worse. 

Wean,  a child. 

Weasand,  the  windpipe. 

Weel,  well. 

Weel-faurd,  well-favoured. 
Weet,  wet. 

Wha,  who. 

Whang,  to  cut,  to  slice. 
“What  for,”  why. 
Wheat-close,  a courtyard  be- 
side a farmhouse. 

Wheen,  a few. 

Whiles,  sometimes. 

Whilk,  which. 

Whom,  a horn. 

Wi’,  with. 

Willyard,  wild,  shy. 

Win,  to  get. 

Worricow,  a scarecrow,  a 
ghost. 

Wot,  to  know. 

Wud,  mad. 

Wunna,  will  not. 

Wuss,  to  wish. 

Wyte,  blame,  fault. 

Yealdon,  fuel. 

Yearned,  curdled. 

Yerk,  to  bind  tightly. 

Yestreen,  last  night. 

Yill,  ale. 

Yont,  beyond,  away  from. 


THE  END. 


EDITOR’S  NOTES. 


(a)  p.  2.  “The  Master  of  Saint  Clair,  that  shot  the  twa 
Shaws.”  This  murder  was  committed  on  Oct.  17,  1708.  The 
Proceedings  in  the  Court  Martial,  and  other  documents,  were 
edited  by  Sir  Walter  for  the  Roxburglie  Club,  in  1828. 

(b)  p.  51.  “The  three  silly  poor  hog-lambs.”  Here  is  the 
rhyme : — 

March  said  to  Aperill 
I see  three  hogs  upon  a hill, 

But  lend  your  first  three  days  to  me, 

And  I’se  be  bound  to  gar  them  flee: 

The  first  day  shall  be  wind  and  weet, 

The  second  shall  he  snaw  and  sleet, 

The  third  day  shall  be  sic  a freeze 
Shall  gar  the  birds  stick  to  the  trees. 

But  when  the  borrowed  days  were  gane 
The  silly  hogs  cam’  hirpling  hame. 

(c)  p.  58.  “Emery.”  A comedian  who  played  in  several 
of  the  “ Terry fications  ” of  the  novels. 

(d)  p.  186.  “Lady  Suffolk.”  In  the  letter  already  quoted, 
Lady  Louisa  Stuart  defends  Lady  Suffolk’s  good  name.  “Lady 

knew  her  intimately,  and  never  would  allow  she  had 

been  the  King’s  mistress,  though  she  owned  it  was  currently 
believed.  She  said  he  had  just  enough  liking  for  her  to  make 
the  Queen  very  civil  to  her,  and  very  jealous  and  spiteful.” 
The  Duke  of  Argyle,  from  Lady  Stuart’s  narrative  in  Lady 
Mary  Coke’s  Memoirs,  seems  to  have  been  of  a different 
opinion.  The  Countess  of  Suffolk  was  the  eldest  daughter  of 
Sir  Henry  Hobart  of  Blickling.  She  was  in  Hanover  before 
the  death  of  Queen  Anne,  and  there  became  acquainted  with 
Queen  Caroline.  According  to  Coxe,  the  King  had  made  her 


424 


EDITOR’S  NOTES. 


the  confidante  of  his  love  for  Mary  Bellenden,  who  married  a 
future  Duke  of  Argyle,  in  1720.  The  King  then  transferred 
his  affection  to  Lady  Suffolk.  Chesterfield  says  that  the 
Queen  “promoted  the  gallantries  of  the  King,”  which  Coxe 
denies.  She  only  called  Lady  Suffolk  u our  sister,”  in  irony 
and  ill-will.  (“Memoirs  of  Sir  Robert  Walpole,”  i.  278, 
London  1798.) 

(e)  p.  246.  “ Shawfield’s  mob.”  See  Sir  Robert  Walpole’s 

Correspondence  for  1725  (ii.  445).  There  was  a kind  of  strike 
among  the  Brewers.  His  Majesty  knew  not  if  the  Magistrates 
could  compel  them  to  carry  on  their  trade,  and  dreaded  that 
they  would  sell  beer  so  bad  as  to  provoke  sedition.  There 
was  a project  for  nationalising  beer,  in  case  the  strikers 
persisted.  (Letter  from  Lord  Townshend  to  the  Duke  of 
Newcastle.)  Edinburgh  was  for  some  time  on  very  short 
allowance  of  beer. 

( f ) p.  246.  “ Him  of  the  laurel  wreath.”  That  is,  Southey. 

The  “British  Juvenal”  elsewhere  quoted  is  Crabbe. 

Andrew  Lang. 


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